Kama: Liberation (Vol-I)

Chapter 53(Part-II): My Only God

It feels better with you.

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Stars– shimmering, shining, floating in the midnight sky. Quietude, all around. Owls hooting, leaves rustling, and the fresh fragrance of a rain-loved soil. The scorching heat after a betraying shower.

She twisted and turned in her bed. The weather was humid. The fabric stuck to her sweaty body. If only someone would fan her. She needed some coolness. Something cold and icy, much like his distant gaze.

Just as she wished, a gentle breeze served her some relief. Opening her eyes, she saw him smile at her. Beads of perspiration dotted his forehead. "Does it make you feel better?"

"It does."

"My little one should think of undressing," he smirked, "for the sake of comfort, of course."

Many had told her he was a bad man. A warrior so brutal and bloodthirsty like him could never be a loving husband. They didn't behold this pleasant sight of him. She raised her arm and caressed his toned chest, and he bent down to kiss her forehead.

Her eyes fluttered open. Indeed, this was a rather flushed night, turning bodies pink in heat. "It was a dream."

Indumala touched her crown. There was a moist imprint on it, as if she were kissed by someone.

By Rudra. It was him.

Indumala stretched her limbs and turned to the side. Finally she saw something that wasn't scary or about death. Surprisingly, it was about love.

"I am really so into him that I saw him as my husband?" She laughed. "I am crazy."

Although, she couldn't deny, it felt so real. She could almost touch him and feel his breath. He looked different too– with longer hair tied in a ponytail. It gave him a more feminine look. At present, his appearance was edgy.

She wondered what he could be doing now. It was almost dawn, but her sleep broken, she decided to not go back to bed. Instead, she went to the garden.

Walking amidst bushes of marigolds and pink peonies, she relished the phantom kiss. They had kissed in the bathhouse that day, but as lovers only. In the dream, it was more intimate– they were married.

But...wait.

Indumala had missed the detail.

"He wasn't a Rajan in my dream. He was a warrior."

Perhaps there was a time when Rudra wasn't a Rajan, when he was a human.

Indumala smiled. Often reality felt like a mirage. The past and the present united in such a fluid manner, so effortlessly, that she lost track of what to consider as her true experience. For once, it didn't frighten her. Maybe because she saw a glimpse of him in what was already dead.

But Petra is not dead, he had proclaimed with much defiance.

She found the former lover of the burnt girl sitting on a bench. He was staring up at the moon ruefully. The faint glimmer of happiness rippled in the shadows. It was there, like a naive wish, not knowing if ever it would blossom as proudly as a sunflower in the aftermath of a storm.

Things were falling into place. Indumala's feet curled inwards. If she would let her courage dwindle even a little, the curses and spirits would feast on her fears.

With a lot of hope she went up to Rudra. "I can't sleep."

There was no shock painted on his face, as if he were expecting her soon. Did his thoughts wake her up and pull her here? Indumala gulped. After all, he was an immortal man, beyond the idiosyncrasies of an ordinary human. If he willed, he would resurrect the dead.