Kama: Liberation (Vol-I)

Chapter 55: Return of the Light

Love me, fear me, hate me
But dare conquer me, O man blinded by pride
Behold then, you must, my namesake Death
For I am not only kind, but a dangerous fairytale.

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In a circle of pricking dust, Indumala stood armless. The nipping breeze taunted her armour, the sky sagging with a billion dark clouds. Hamal's predatory eyes undressed her in a mere blink of an eye.

Under his scrutiny, she felt naked. The metals couldn't guard her honeyed waist or her motherly bosom.

"We have a history, Indumala. A past that goes beyond this life. I hope you realise it."

The bones of her fingers clattered. A heavy weight descended upon her shoulders. It pushed her down, head hanging low.

"Answer me," Hamal pointed the sword at the emblem of Ishgar on her armour, "Indumala."

"You may not have used magic, but someone from outside the battlefield did. Someone from your side."

Hamal cocked his head to the side and removed his helmet, flaxen hair flowing down like a fountain. From the ends travelled a brown tint, colouring his head in the shade of mud. His face twisted and morphed into the beast Indumala knew from her nightmares. His eyes glinted, a fine pair of false stars. "Someone from your side, Indumala. Isn't it unfortunate?"

"It's impossible–"

"Your friends have betrayed you."

The coldness of the truth calcified Indumala's skeleton. Akin to a statue, lifelike yet without a soul, she froze on the sand. Her feet drowned deep, losing the sense of touch gradually. The world around melted, a myriad of colours constituting a psychedelic trance. Words refused to leave her lips. A helpless moan mixed in with the deluging tears.

Hamal extended his hand, stopping just before it landed on her chest. She stepped back, only to hit an invisible wall that kept her locked in place. She raised her fists in a defensive position and pushed her left foot forward.

"I pity you," he whispered, strings of black magic coursing out of his hand. They ate away the armour, revealing the plain blouse and short dhoti she had been donning. His eyes widened upon the sight of her bare midriff. "Or perhaps I don't."

Slithering hands of phantom rubbed Indumala's body. She groaned and flailed limbs. Tears washed her hands, only for the marks of assault to appear again. They painted her body as a prisoner of lust, claiming her breasts and navel, her little cherry lips and lotus feet.

Shame reduced her to an ugly mess. Somehow, this moment found her incapable of any strength. She was aware of the fact– no sorcery could counter the enemy that challenged her. He knew her every weakness, having complete knowledge of the past that haunted her. She was his puppet, governed by a raw fear– her body not being hers, her consent a silent protest.

"Do not resist what shall happen," Hamal closed the distance between them, grabbing her throat gently in his grip. It was a ruthlessly kind touch. Indumala knew he could choke her any moment. But no, he wasn't going to kill her so simply.

She knew what happened in such situations. She had heard her veshya mothers from the guild face the atrocity on certain nights. It was what many women went through, caged inside four walls. They walked with their bodies veiled and courage suppressed.