Dhampir of Kalika

২৩. the bastard lives

Destruction won't touch the holy.

****

For some moments, Maya was of the belief that she had gone blind. Everything was dark and only blobs of light floated in her vision. Though before she could panic, the piece of fabric was removed from her eyes. Colours returned, although not happiness.

Maya was bound with ropes and a gag prevented her from speaking. She was sitting against a pillar of sort, and in front of her stood Ritabhari. The detective struggled with the bondages, curses piling up beneath her tongue. The dancer didn't smirk or show amusement at Maya's state. Her pretty eyes were laden with guilt and apparent genuine concern. However, her hands were not trying to be innocent. She tightened the knots that kept Maya in place.

"It's not my fault. I am helpless," Ritabhari said. "I will have to follow Mrinjay Babu's orders. I am his servant."

Maya groaned and rolled her eyes. If only her hands were free, she would have slapped the dancer. Maybe even strangle her.

"You must stay here and watch everything unfold. I am telling you from beforehand, so that you can be ready for the brutality. Mrinjay Babu excuses me and I don't need to stay here. But he won't let you run." Ritabhari wrapped her arms around her body to guard from the cold. "He is going to kill you."

Maya despised that pity in the dancer's eyes. Ritabhari claimed she was disturbed even after the death of Kamala, and yet allowed the child to be sacrificed for the sake of her own life. Now, the dancer was putting Maya at stake. Perhaps the false, made-up sense of pity allowed Ritabhari to feel human enough, rise above the clutches of the crime she was a participant in. The tears that brimmed in her eyes comforted her with the promise of humanity emerging from the debris of bloody murders. It gave Ritabhari the freedom to reduce herself from a criminal to a mere accomplice, and ultimately to a woman who was a victim.

She was, as if, acting in a play, the leniency and tears elevating the emotional depth of her performance. All this was a show put up to save her dignity and paint her in the shades of a helpless heroine caught by villainous men.

Ritabhari placed a hand upon her heart and sighed. She went and removed the gag from Maya's mouth. The latter coughed and panted. Ritabhari extended her hand to caress her cheek, but Maya snapped her neck to the side. It hurt badly, but the pain was soothing. "You didn't help me in any way by telling me I am going to die."

"I know I cannot help you, and I am sorry."

"You are living in an illusion, Ritabhari. You convince yourself of the ruth happenings, tell yourself you bleed for me. But in reality, Ritabhari, you never really cared for me and neither Kamala. You only weaved a so-called fragile notion of clemency to feel better about the crimes you were committing, which you could have very well helped in stopping. But you didn't. You chose to be bad, but you please your heart by narrating the tale of a defenseless dancer."

Maya stared daggers at the woman, breaking her every barrier with the sharp glance. Ritabhari's lips puckered when Maya was speaking. Now, she looked away to the towering trees and the abandoned mansion behind. The building was once the property of the Das only, but they gave up on it centuries before. Now, this was being put to use as a sacrificial ground, the decomposed remains a silent witness of gory deaths.

"Look at me, Ritabhari, face the truth–"

Ritabhari raised her hand to land a smack on Maya's cheek. The reaction caught both off-guard. Maya was seething with rage, while Ritabhari slowly retreated her hand and clenched her fist.

"You are a whore, Ritabhari. You really are."

"I know what I am doing, Maya. And let me ace this act. Whatever may happen in my life, I am always going to ensure that I remain a chaste and guileless woman."