𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑹𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒄𝒐𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑹𝒊𝒅𝒆

PART-48

The sky was still painted with the brushstrokes of night—stars twinkling, black clouds swirling—yet faintly touched by the promise of dawn. Crickets droned their last tired chorus, and somewhere in the distance, a rooster called too early:

"Cock-a-doodle-doo!"

A cool breeze slipped inside the clay hut, stirring its stillness. The kerosene lamp flickered low, its flame shrinking and swelling, always a breath away from fading into all black.

Rudraksh was lying on his stomach, diagonally claiming the narrow cot, balanced on the verge of sliding off. His arms and feet dangled off the side, palm open, fingers twitching every now and then as if trying to hold something in his dream that reality failed to offer.

The coarse blanket had long given up the fight, kicked onto the floor, looking more like some used tissue paper than a source of warmth. His pressed cheek against the pillow squashed his lips into a lopsided pout, while the rough threads of the cover left tiny criss-cross tattoos across his skin.

The world hovered in that fragile pause between night and day, while he lay adrift in its hush, deep in the kind of sleep that belongs only to the darkest hours before the morning.

DONGGGG!!

His body jolted, limbs sprawling as he hit the hard earth with a dull thud. A small puff of dust lifted from the cracks in the ground.

Moments passed before he finally sat up, settling cross-legged on the cold earth – his face tilted to the side, one arm loosely resting on his lap, the other splayed out against the ground.

His hair, cut short in gentlemanly neatness, fell across his forehead, veiling just slightly his shut eyes and that six stitches near his left eyebrow. His chest rose and sank in a steady rhythm, lips parted just enough for a slow breath to seep out.

DONGGGGG!!!!

His eyes flew open, eyelashes fluttering against the stubborn drag of sleep that refused to loosen its grip.

"Why?" A low groan slipped from his lips, caught somewhere between a laugh and a cry. "For the last ten days, this 'DONGGGG' has been sending shockwaves through me."

His lips pursed as he jerked his head toward the hut's closed gate. "They won't leave me alone until they've turned me into a full-fledged saint."

Flaring one hand into the air while the other pressed firmly against the earth, he sprang upright in a single sharp motion. Dust scattered from beneath his palm, and his lean frame straightened with a quiet force.

With a detached motion, he strode toward the wooden almirah, no higher than his waist. Reaching it, he bent a little, fingers brushing over the neatly folded pile before pulling out a fresh set of the same simple attire he had worn.

"Time to take a bath, Rudraksh," he whispered to himself, folding the clothes between his palms. "Back to the same routine as the hostel." With a soft sigh, he turned on his heel and walked out of the hut.

💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥

The bathroom corridor stretched long and hushed, its walls painted in muted clay tones and lit faintly by camphor candles flickering low along either side. Their yellow glow washed over the rows of potted plants lined neatly against the wall, casting restless shadows of the leaves whenever a gust of wind slipped in from the front door.

Rudraksh walked with unhurried steps. The freshly mopped floor felt cool beneath his feet, carrying the faint scent of lemongrass and detergent. He held a folded towel in one hand, while his plain white kurta and pyjamas hung loosely from the other.