Kama: Liberation(Vol-II)

Chapter 3. The Portrait

Why a woman who had sinned be whipped, and a man who sinned be worshipped?

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The men of Revat looked at Indumala as if she were a dirty monster uglier than their dead Rajan.

All eyes were on the young woman. Each gaze was alert, often diffident, a quality Indumala had not expected to find in these men of blood and gore. With each step she took, the heaviness in the air pressed down upon her. It was her own presence that invoked fear. The darkness of Revat flocked to her deadly fire, not to consume her dignity but to worship the brutality in her bones.

If moments before she were having doubts of her divinity, now they all vanished like a mirage. Wherever she cast her curious glance, the flower wilted. Venomous sneers fled behind curtains. Inside her heart triggered an ancient storm. She wondered if the men would come rushing at her if she smiled coyly, or would they still remember the lunacy that slept in her core?

She herself was recently made aware of it. Parts of the war were still hazy, but Revat presented the taste of tangy blood. Had she been drunk on the ichor of the dead Rajan Hamal? Perhaps, and it must have been delectable– the drool collecting in her mouth hinted so. She pursed her lips, surprised at the courage brimming in her veins. It threatened to blast open all the thin vessels and erupt a fountain of rage.

This wasn't the anger of a woman. This was the revenge of a goddess.

Yet, why she? Maybe the answer would knock one day.

There was something else living in her– something that was a part of her soul indeed, but was lulled to sleep in infancy. It was awakening now, rising up to the surface, screaming at the atrocities of the world. The cruelty of men fed its hunger, and crawling to the skeletons of fallen demons, the creature would rejoice in a feast. Every man that stood in the corridor deserved to be roasted alive. Indumala clenched her fist. The urge was getting too strong, her mind going blank. She was losing herself. If she didn't control the bloodlust soon, someone would be dying again. And she won't remember killing.

A hand brushed her cheeks. She looked up, the redness of her eyes retreating back.

"You seem troubled, Indu."

What should she be saying? Was this the same wrath that Rudra experienced as a werewolf, venturing to the most extreme methods of violence to slit skin and make a garland out of the pierced flesh? She was growing closer to him not just in love but in madness too. "I am feeling angry."

Rudra weighed her words, a brief pause that stretched on for an eternity. At the end of his analysis, he said, "You need to address what is going on with you. It can't be left unattended."

Maybe he knew what she was going through. Maybe he could help. "The anger doesn't simmer down. It keeps on poking me. I feel like," she scanned the guards around, "maybe, one of them..."

"O my little one," Rudra caressed her head, running his fingers through her hair. It instantly calmed her senses, a cool fountain moistening her enraged hot body. She felt sleepy and numb. "You must hold the reins. I have learnt to do it, and you shall too. Your anger must not take anyone, but only the people necessary."

With drooping eyelids she stared at him. "I see."

"I think it will be better for you to not come with me and meet Aishan. Seeing them will irk you. And I don't wish to call upon the destructive again."