Kama: Liberation (Vol-I)

Chapter 39: The Untouchable Rajan

Do not hate yourself because you are a monster; we all have one inside us. We all are cruel, ugly, villainous in the life of someone.

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Indumala was unable to eat much. In a small span of time, she had grown used to having dinner with Rudra. Instead of staying with her, he stormed out of the room, self-inflicted wounds blurring his perception of their flourishing bond. Indumala tried to read herself to sleep. Neither did the pages call her nor did the bed. At the end, she decided to visit him.

"I think we have reached that level of comfort where I can also visit his room at night." Though, it was late, and he was a Rajan. But the irritation, the knot in her stomach was too strong to be pushed back. She buried her judgements for the better. Let others think what they would want, Indumala would go and see if he was crying again. She reached his room and pushed open the door. "You don't have to be alone–"

On the floor, in a little pool of blood, was Rudra. Still. Unmoving. His eyes were rolled back, and his nails were transformed to stone. Someone had pulled his hair so hard that tresses lay around like uprooted grass. Near his feet was a chalice, drops of wine spilling out of it.

"Rudra!" she screamed. Keeping his head on her lap, she shook his face and checked his pulse. The clock of his body had stopped.

The pale of fright, the red of sinful guilt and the blue of sad regrets coloured Indumala's face. Her eyes, so spirited and sunny, had fallen in the trap of dusk. Starless, dark and dreary, fear lived in the crevices. Tears like dewdrops danced on her eyelashes.

"Yo-you can't die," she stammered. "Don't leave." Whispers piled up inside, stacked one above another in a never-ending tower of grief and shock. Death was something Indumala had seen many times. But the ache that was born in her heart now was enough to steal her own fragile life.

She screamed and screamed, coughing out as the skin of her throat was cut. Faint spots of blood splattered on her hands. She ran her fingers through his hair, tracing his lifeless eyes and parted lips. So insane had Indumala become, that not once did she flinch when giving him a mouth-to-mouth. She began slapping him. "Wake up you rascal," she cursed. "You moron, you coward–"

The doors were flung open as Dilrobar and the guards came running to Indumala's voice of help. Immediately Dilrobar set upon a scan of Rudra's body and the guards inspected the room.

"The chalice is made of silver. Its dust was present in the wine too," a guard said.

Dilrobar took his palms and felt the hardness of his curved claws. They were so inhuman.

"Who did this to him?" Indumala mumbled between her tears.

"He will be fine." This, was Dilrobar's cold answer.

Indumala's jaws dropped. Her mouth hung open in utter disbelief. "Are you mad? He is dead. Dead! What will happen to Aryavarta? What will happen to his subjects?"

What will happen to me?

Whom will I protect?

"I failed, Dilrobar. I failed as a bodyguard. I will burn with him. I don't deserve to live–"

"He will be fine, Indumala." Dilrobar gently placed Rudra's palm over his chest. "This has happened before too. He will be fine."