Dhampir of Kalika

২৪. blessings from kalika

Child of War, born of Destruction.

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Time was slipping by.

Mrinjay's heart was burnt to ashes and mixed with his blood. Raktim drank it and wiped his mouth. Staring at his bloodied hands and clothes, he felt his skin melting and tightening, and his eyes twitching in an ominous way. These were all signs of him transforming back to human.

Mohini had tore a part of her saree and covered Maya's wound with it. She kept the detective close to her chest and chanted the Maha Mrityunjay Mantra with utmost devotion. After some time, she looked up at Raktim. "You have changed back to human. Let us leave. We need to treat Maya."

"I can't afford to lose her," Raktim said. "But I need to do one last job."

He took one vial with the blood of Mrinjay and poured it in the fire while taking the name of Kalika. The agitated fire groaned and flickered momentarily.

"It's done. The fire has been spoilt and Raktabeej's ritual destroyed. The demon has failed–"

Wind danced through the air, rustling leaves and tousling hair. Branches swayed in a rhythm and the sky showcased a dynamic display of clouds racing across the azure. Dust and debris whirled in gusts.

"Is it...is it a storm?" Mohini covered her face with her aanchal. Suddenly, she felt a numbing sensation at the back of her head. "Ugh... What is happening?" Everything spun in circles and looked hazy. Mohini fell to the ground, laying unconscious beside Maya.

Raktim watched the fire rise higher and higher, aiming for the skies. Lightning struck and thunder rumbled ominously, echoing through the air like distant drums. The wind howled, whipping through the trees and sending shivers down spines.

"Raktim..."

The dhampir knew no word to describe the contrasting kindness and wrath constituting that voice, the vastness of it and the cosmic depth ingrained in it. Out of the dancing fire emerged a vague outline of immense blue, so deep and dark like the night, and a pair of shining scarlet eyes.

Raktim couldn't believe what he saw. The four hands, the embellishments of skull and ashes, the tiger skin...

"My son, you have made me happy."

Raktim fell to his knees, tears brimming in his eyes. Quivering hands were joined in a namaskara and he touched his head to the ground. "Maa..." Goosebumps crawled over his skin. The ethereal starry beauty in front, dressed in the garment of midnight with the crescent moon adorning her thick locks, was someone whom he never thought of meeting. Saints and kings meditated to have one glance of her, and here he never expected to see her. But she came to him. She came, on her own.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Raktim, you have helped me in dwindling the strength of Raktabeej. By sacrificing the blood of Mrinjay to the fire by taking my name, you have liberated his soul, as well as removed the vampirism running in the Das family. They no longer will have to suffer through painful immortality. From now, they shall live as healthy humans, blessed with happiness and prosperity."

"Am...am I a good son?"

He died to hear this once in his life. He lost his mother before he could fathom her smile and his father never gave him importance. If, if Kalika would grant him the place of a child...