The Weeping Stars

Flashback

Sleep did not come as easily as Isha had hoped. Around midnight she left her bed to stand near the window. The lake and the mansion beyond looked mysterious in the light of the stars. Staring at the stars Isha was transported back two years back.

Isha had been star gazing. The forest that runs on the other side of the road beckoned to her. Without much thought, Isha donned a light shawl over her salwar kameez and quietly slipped out. It was not too late for a walk out. It was only 7:00 pm and the last rays of the setting sun still clung to the horizon. The road was comparitively safe but the approaching dark clouds from the west had send most of the pedestrians back indoors.

Isha had no fear. She knows these forest like the back of her hand. She headed for the secluded spot near the pond that was her favorite. Alhough a few meters from the road, it was hidden from view by thick trees. Reaching the bank, Isha sat down on the rock beside the mango tree. A part of the rock protrude over the water, giving you the feeling of floating over the water. The beauty of this lies in the silence that surrounds the place. Lost in her thoughts, Isha did not notice the clouds closing in. She did not see the time fly by. Nor did she notice one unfamiliar shadow stirr and move stealthily toward her.

A big splash of rain startled her. It was follwoed by a lound thunder. Isha realised her mistake a bit too late. Now finding shelter is impossible. Reaching hom in a thunderstorm, over open fields, is dangerous. Moreover, the forest has many dangerous snakes that come out when rainwater invade their nest. Thinking the mango tree, which had very little snake hole at its base, is the best option, Isha scrambles towards it. And collides with what seemed a rock-wall.

An expensive smell assails her senses. The hands that come out to steady her seem to burn through her thin dress. The guy towered over hear like a burly bear. Isha could not help the cry that escaped her lips. In a second the stranger had her pinned against the tree, with one hand covering her mouth and the other keeping her in place. Isha could feel every muscle in his chest and abdomen, as he used his upper body to subdue her.

Although althetic, Isha's strugles make little impression on the brute. He holds her with sickening ease, waiting for her to stop twisting. Soon, Isha's struggles gave way to tremors that shook her slight phrame. The wet clothes and the windy weather did not help either. Isha's blood ran cold thinking about the things the stranger might be able to do her.

Her tremors drew a very different response from the stranger. His hold became softer, like a potter holding a fragile vase. His one hand began drawing circles on her arms, hips and back. Stragely, such intimate massage had a calming effect on Isha. Her tremors subsided to a feeling of well-being that was in total contrast with her perilious situation. Sensing her calm, the man brought his lips near her ear and wispered above the wind, 'Don't worry. I will not hurt you'.

Slowly he removed his hand from her mounth and leaned back. The strom raged around them, yet they were wrapped in a strange mist of calm. They stayed together like that for what seemed like ages. The captor comforting and the prisoner revelling in her bonds.

Looking back, Isha could not pinpoint the moment when it changed. Was it something she did? Some little sign of content, or a relaxed posture. She had kept asking herself, was she responsible for what followed? One moment the man's hands were conforting, in the next it became searching. The hold that was comforting, now became demanding. The hand on her hip travelled lower, and one on her shoulder very slowly inched downwards. Isha, in her inexperience, was frozen in fright. The man too seemed to pause, testing her reaction. Isha's inaction seemed to give him some doubts.

'I am so overthinking this.He is just preparing to move away', thought Isha, as she let out a sign of relief. Her sign acted as a bucket of petrol on smoudlering embers. Taking it as a sign of consent, the man gathered her close and pressed his lips on her.