Kama: Liberation (Vol-I)

Chapter 43(Part-II): The Mother

The goddess has arrived.

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Just as Ishvara parted the curtain to look at Revat, a shock traversed her spine. It didn't take her long to feel she knew this place like the back of her hand.

Aged men and women, reduced to skin clinging to bones, prostrated in front of them. They begged for mercy, to be given a crumb of bread, to be shown some love. Even a careless caress would be a cup of elixir.

Aryamna travelled beside the palanquin, to the right. The Rajan and Indumala were way ahead. They were a group of almost a hundred people. Despite the strength in their numbers and Ishvara's belief in the power of the Rajan, her faith dwindled. She found herself growing fearful and vulnerable when beholding the hungry children, the crying women and men returning home empty-handed.

A storm was born in her mind's eye. She braced herself, braving the tempest of hazy memories that hurled at her. She called them ghosts of the past, now dead, but once they used to be alive. It made them strong and valid enough to be true, for they existed long back.

They laughed at her miserable state, at her inability to banish them. She was labelled an anomaly of nature, a creation of which even the gods would be embarrassed. She belonged to those sects who were untouchables, shunned by society. Being the wife of a royal man didn't excuse her from the punishment of being born.

This time, the visions were darker than before. The morphed faces of lustful men, their lecherous gaze travelling up her thighs made her shut her eyes in disgust. Their phantom hands brushed against her skin. She shrivelled up in indignation, her feet curling inwards. Ishvara knew that these were all figments of her imagination, remnants of a deplorable past, now no more. But why did these creepy spirits hunt her, even after so many years since the plague? Did they come to her even when she was in the assumed eternal sleep? Aryamna, the one connecting string to her past, was so close to her, but she didn't want to trouble him. She was sure he knew about her nightmares, maybe he knew everything about her, even more than she did.

But he was bound to be quiet, and she had decided to not reveal before she could at least draw the storyline of her eventful life.

And to understand who she really was– how from Princess Nadira she became the Senapati's wife Ishvara, how Rajan Aryam became the humble Aryamna, how glorious Ishgar changed over the years– she had to face these visions. So, putting up a brave front, she charged ahead with her unwavering love for the divine. If Shiva had placed her in this revolting mess, he knew she was capable of handling it and coming out victorious even if not unscathed. Some scars would always exist. Pain elevated the sweetness of life.

She smiled at those spirits of her past. The shadows of the plague could not plague her forever. She allowed the image of Ranavato to mock her; she looked daggers at the beastly horned-man who offered her his callous hand; she held on to Aryam when he would fall in the abyss of the unknown curse. Their footing in her reality trembled. Slowly, they faded away, vanishing all of a sudden just like they came.

She had won. For now, at least.

"What is Revat to me?"

The place, despite its frightening aura, challenged her to be a warrior who could stand alone without the support of another. It beguiled her to submit, but a strange hushed sensation sibilated in her ears to continue. Thus, she kept walking, suppressing all doubts of self-worth. She could taste tears on her lips, sniff the dread in the air, but out of nowhere came an infinite strength to smash all who tried to malign her.

The men in her nightmares would regard her as a prize, a beauty otherworldly, unmatched. The beast in particular would talk of marriage, no less than a bondage, and point at a tower, calling it her peaceful abode. Her mother Ranavato would warn her of his arrival, intimidate her to accept that diabolical man. He would try to lure her with gossamer silks and gold, and when she didn't speak in his favour, terrorise her. Perhaps the men had been successful in leaving their imprints on her soul.