Damini: Unraveling Fates Across Centuries

3.Threads of Beliefs and shadows of doubt

Today was a day of gratitude and devotion, of offerings and garlands, of paying homage to the goddess. If you'd asked me a lifetime ago-when I was still me, still someone practical and free-thinking-whether I believed in divine protection or karma, I would have laughed. But now, after being reborn into this life, with another chance handed to me, belief came easier. Today, I wanted to do more than believe. I wanted to earn merits, avert the silent, unknown dangers lurking in my new future.

So I spent the morning kneeling on the stone floor, fingers fumbling to weave flower garlands from the delicate marigolds and jasmine I had picked. I cooked pots of simple, hearty food to share with those in need, feeling like each meal carried a small, whispered prayer for safety.

And I even wore the traditional Parkar and Polka-a skirt and top I hadn't worn since childhood. Slipping into it felt both comforting and strange. I could almost feel the fabric's memories, but the weight and length made me stumble more than once, to the amusement of my aunt and her maid. They laughed and teased me, calling me "baby bird," saying I'd forgotten how to walk properly. I forced a smile, but missed my old wardrobe, the ease of jeans and T-shirts and the comfort of slipping into the online world with a tap. Life had been simpler then, less tangled in skirts and tradition.

I turned to books to escape the quiet stretches of the day. They'd always been my refuge, even in my old life, but here their yellowed pages and familiar words seemed to reach across time, as though trying to ground me in a world I barely knew. But books only went so far, and soon I longed for fresh air. I followed Aunt to the temple, hoping to feel more at peace.

The temple looked just as I remembered it. Memories came in a rush as I climbed the eleven stone steps, each one etched in my mind from childhood. The walls surrounding the complex were woven from massive, interlocked stones, their surfaces punctuated by little carved niches for oil lamps. Every festival, hundreds of those small flames would shimmer in the night, casting flickering light onto the walls, making it feel as though the temple itself were breathing.

The air was filled with the scent of incense, heady and warm, mixed with the smell of flowers from the nearby gulmohar and jasmine trees. The occasional clang of the temple bell sent birds scattering into the air, wings beating in a frantic blur, only to settle back onto their branches moments later. The figures of Ganesha, Kartikeya, and other gods were carved into pillars, watching over us with serene, unblinking eyes. Women in brightly colored sarees prayed in silence, their heads bowed, faces partly hidden behind the end of their sarees. The reverence in the air was almost tangible, something I felt deep in my chest, despite the tug of my modern mind.

When I stepped into the inner sanctum, I saw her. The Goddess Lakshmi sat on her lotus throne, draped in red, her golden jewelry gleaming even in the dim light. In her hand was a pot, overflowing with bounty, just as I had seen in my dreams. For a moment, the world grew quiet, the temple seemed to hold its breath. I bowed my head, murmuring a small prayer.

"Mother, though I may no longer be Saudamini, please help me protect these people. Bless us, guide us, and keep us from harm."

Just then, Aunt's voice cut through the calm. "How is Saudamini Bai?" she asked.

Curiosity flickered in me, and I glanced around. My heart faltered. Aunt was speaking with a woman who looked almost identical to Anita, my uncle Ramesh's sister. I'd recognize her sharp features anywhere-the high, parrot-like nose, thin lips pressed together in a way that suggested she was always on the verge of scolding someone. She wore a maroon saree, draped in the Casta style, with a golden flower pin in her neat hair bun. It was so unlike the Anita I knew, who only wore Western clothes and would have balked at anything traditional. Yet here she was, or at least her near-perfect double, her resemblance unnervingly close, like a spirit or a ghost from another life.

A chill swept over me, my mind flashing back to the rumors surrounding her. Anita, who was said to have shot her own dog simply for running away, only to claim it was rabid as an excuse. Anita, who had embezzled money from her own father. Fear curled around my thoughts, tightening its grip.

She noticed me staring and shot me a sly smile. "Naughty girl, you're already fourteen and still causing trouble for your poor aunt." Her voice held the same mocking tone I remembered, as though she were scolding a child too foolish to know any better.

I forced a tight smile, my skin prickling. She's exactly like her, I thought uneasily, caught between fear and confusion.

Aunt, seemingly unaware of my tension, took a pinch of sindoor and turmeric, applying it gently to the woman's forehead. The woman-Ketki Aunt, as she would now be called-grinned back, matching Aunt's gesture with a traditional touch, almost as if they'd rehearsed it.

"She's been quieter lately, not playing pranks like she used to," Aunt remarked, giving me a glance that was both amused and proud.

Ketki's gaze slid back to me, her eyes sharp. "Be a good girl, Saudamini," she said lightly, before turning back to the temple.

A headache bloomed behind my eyes. I looked at Aunt, feeling overwhelmed, the tension building until I blurted out, "I'm going home. My head hurts."

She barely glanced at me. "Go straight home," she replied, absentmindedly.

I muttered, "Hail Hitler," giving a half-hearted salute, unable to resist the sarcasm.

Aunt's head whipped back to me with a frown. "Who's Hitler? And here I thought Ketki Aunt was complimenting you! Go home, and rest, Saudamini."

So her name was Ketki. But I wasn't listening anymore. As I walked home, the strangeness of it all gnawed at me. The house was waiting for me, an old relic built in the Soppa Mali style with thick beams and wooden furniture. The furniture's varnish filled the air with a faint, smoky scent, and everything felt precarious, as though one spark might reduce it all to ashes.

I reached the wooden doors and felt a wave of nervous energy. This house, and everything in it, felt like a relic from another age. It had none of the concrete slabs or the heavy steel beams I was used to. I ran a hand over the wood and felt the fragility of it, the unsettling impermanence of everything around me. I'd need to introduce the idea of a fire safety drill, even if it sounded ridiculous. Maybe they'd laugh, or maybe they'd just think me foolish.

But I couldn't shake the feeling that something about this world-Ketki, the temple, even Aunt's kindness-was setting me on edge, as if the peace here was merely an illusion.