अन्तः अस्ति प्रारंभः।
The end is the beginning.
A caterpillar dies, to birth a butterfly. Water evaporates to rain down. Dead carcasses fill the stomachs of vultures.Life gives way to death and death to life. In a vicious circle of different karmas...
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The slamming of doors was obnoxious enough that Mihira slipped out of her trance violently enough that her control on her tongue slipped.
"Break that door, why don't you?" She snapped loudly without looking up, seeing the drawings of the dead bodies of the Red Murders. (The terms of recognition varied weekly.)
Her fingers felt stiff from the use and the cold that had begun seeping into her through the scar on her shoulder. She massaged her forearms in a motion that reminded her of cocking of a gun.
(Wasn't that what she was? A weapon.)
"That's not how you should be talking to your fake father-in-law, rude thing." Eklavya spoke behind her and Mihira felt the tardiness from a dissatisfactory day flee herself as she turned.
Standing there was a man who was practically an older copy of Eklavya standing there. The traditional markings on both their necks were almost identical, bar the three waves on Eklavya instead of five on Hiranyadhanush. He was built on the heavier side, while Eklavya was leaner, but taller.
Mihira lowered her eyes as soon as she registered what Eklavya had said. This was the Chief of Army of Vidharbh. Her impudent remark was absolutely uncalled for.
Hiranyadhanush shook his head and scoffed, a smile lingering on his rather harsh features,"So, you have faux ensnared my son. Ram Ram, I am Hiranyadhanush, a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for taking his responsibility off my hands."
"He's a handful," Mihira agreed, aptly ignoring how Eklavya seemed to be complaining about the two of them to Hiranandani,"But his trophies are certainly good incentives. Ram Ram, I am Mihira."
Hiranyadhanush moved to stand beside Mihira, overlooking the strewn papers on the table, arranged in piles of subject matter on the paper, from latest to oldest. He picked up the post mortem report of the young woman, Mihira did not know her name, and frowned.
She left him to his devices as she saw how he was beginning to get immersed in his research. She turned towards Eklavya and nodded towards the door. His brow furrowed but he nodded, going back to the almond milk in his hand.
The breeze of cold that enveloped Mihira had her sighing. She walked towards the side of the corridor, looking down on the gardens of the palace. Trees dotted with flowers of various kinds as well as plants of small kitchen commodities danced lazily in the same breeze and she saw the red of chillies and the red of roses and wished.
"I wouldn't live without him." She mumbled to herself, something that was so raw that it had first brought fear under her wounded and open skin. The words had seemed dangerous, at first, prying at her like a chisel and it had taken her longer to realise that they were, in fact, worse.
A chisel would have created art of stone and yet, those words had only worked to soften her heart for the easy reaping.
Her mother had smiled, teeth red with blood, kissed Mihira's forehead and left. Mihira, whose knuckles were still split open, Mihira who had dried blood running down to her elbow. Mihira, who looked like a copy of her father. Her father, unconscious but still breathing, had received tears on his face, as Mihira's eyelids became heavier and world went darker.
