Two moons had passed, and now the brothel too was fading into the distance. The only home she had known for the past ten years. The only place where she did not feel like an outsider. A place where she could be herself and not the ruthless killer she was trained to be.
"Is it tiring?" Rudra, the old bullock cart driver, asked, pulling Mohini out of her daydreams.
"What is?"
"You just returned from one trip, and you're already going on another one."
"Dada, you know that's how our life is."
"Yes, but it still pains me to see such young girls always having to leave the one place they consider home."
It's what we do; we can't escape it even if we wanted to. It's something we've been raised to do. We can't do anything else even if we wanted to."
Rudra gave Mohini a sad smile. A smile of pity, a smile of sympathy. Emotions that Mohini was not used to. Rudra was one of the few ordinary folks that knew what Mohini was. He was one of the few who knew that the life the girls chose was one of necessity and not a choice. He was always one to transport the girls to their hunts, but he was never rude to them. Not once had he looked at them with fear or disgust. He was one of the few who made Mohini feel her parents' spirits were still there.
Mohini turned away from the gazes of the older man. She watched outside as they passed through a village. She silently watched as children ran past them, laughing and playing, as the shopkeepers called to the people to sell their products, and the smell of sweet Gulab Jamun filled the air. Watching them reminded her of summer days far gone.
—
"Slow down, my love," a man was running after a girl, panting.
"Papa, fast; otherwise, we won't be able to get fresh Gulab Jamun." the girl dashed around the corner, headed for the market. She could smell the ghee and sugar and smiled, weaving through stalls till she found the right one.
An old lady sat, placing fried dough balls into sweet syrup. She looked down at the sudden commotion and saw the girl.
"I see you've come earlier, do tell me why?" The lady affectionately.
"I wanted the first of your batch while they were still hot."
"Well, you're in luck, my dear; I just finished."
"Could I get some for my papa as well?"
"Of course, here are two servings of gulab jamun," The lady said, smiling as she handed two dried banana leaf bowls with the sweets.
The girl grinned and ran back to where her father was setting up his stall.
"Papa, look! Maasi gave me two bowls of Gulab Jamun for free!"
The man chuckled as he took one of the bowls from his daughter. As they ate, the girl looked around her father's stall — intricate idols of Hindu gods and small figurines of horses, elephants, birds, and bulls were placed in neat rows.
"Papa, why do you always make sculptures? Why can't you make something new?" The girl questioned
"Well, meri jaan, I haven't found anything else interesting enough to carve."
"When are you going to?"
"I'm not sure. Why don't you tell me what I should carve?"
"I think you should carve a chess set."
'Oh? Why is that?"
"You said that you wanted to carve something you find interesting. I find chess interesting, so I think you should carve that."
"How about this? I'll make one just for you, and if you like it, and I like it, I'll think about selling it. Deal?"
"Deal." The girl said with a wide grin.
__
"Mohini, did you hear what I said?" Rudra asked.
"I'm sorry. What?" Mohini asked as she gave an apologetic smile to the old man.
"I was asking if you wanted to get some Gulab Jamun."
Mohini went mum for a minute. She debated on getting the sweet. As much as she loved the dish, the memories it carried always made her avoid it. This time being no different, Mohini shook her head and asked the old man to continue their journey.
Just as they were about to exit the bustling market, Mohini's eye caught the stall full of ivory carvings.
"Dada, can we stop at that stall for a minute."
As soon as the cart stopped, Mohini jumped off the cart and rushed to the stall. She looked around the store at all the figurines. None of them were as intricate as the ones her father made, but she still wanted to get one to remember her father through his profession.
Looking around, she saw a small idol of Ganesha, the Hindu god known as the remover of obstacles.
"Bhaiya, how much does this Ganesha idol cost?" Mohini asked the stall owner.
"This idol costs 18 dam, Sahiba," The young stall owner answered.
She settled back into the cart, turning the idol over in hand. The cart resumed its journey and Mohini looked up, well aware that this could be the last time she ever saw the market and the people. Looking at the small idol in her hands, she wished, "They call you the remover of obstacles; I know that my karma will get to me, but until that moment comes, please make sure that my mission occurs without any hitches."
Mohini closed her eyes, pressed the idol to her forehead, and said a brief prayer. She looked outside at the changing scenery, dreading what she was required to do soon.
YOU ARE READING
The Viper's Curse (The Viper's Den #1)
Historical Fiction(Slow Updates) With a body made to kill, all Mohini ever knew was death and destruction. But what happens when Mohini is tasked to destroy death and destruction himself? Prince Faisal Ibrahim Mohammad Khan is as dangerous as he is intelligent and a...
