Journey's end

Lightning flashed in the distance. They sans one huddled closer drawing comfort from each other. The swirling black clouds were visible indicating that their journey was at its end. Yet, darkness would arrive before them. The winding road seemingly friendly an hour ago was at its treacherous best. The trees lining both sides were gnarled in places, hideous stumps at others, the roots spreading out onto the pathway like greedy fingers. The leafless branches rustled and bent towards them. This is an illusion. The shaman’s dying warning echoed. Icy hands trailed through their limbs. Fear, the warriors accepted, welcomed, but this unseen entity chilled their hearts, dulled their instincts, made them cower like the villagers they were bound to protect.

Ashan, the self appointed leader, twirled his blood stained scimitar. Basher balked at the other’s impatience, then nudged the unsure group forward. He waited for the one tagging behind. She moved with firm, alert steps belying her tender age. She had impressed Bashir by offering to be the bait. The council had happily agreed.

 He had sworn then to protect her with his life.  

A flash of light revealed the looming grey castle. Thunder made its presence felt. Then. Utter silence. They stopped a few feet away from the gates. Ashan turned to Bashir. “Take the girl and walk ahead. We follow close behind.”

Why single me out? “Come. It’s time.” in the kindest tone he could manage.

One of the gates unbolted, wide enough for a person to pass through.

 He stopped her as she moved forward. “I go first.”

The iron door closed behind them. Bashir rushed back trying in vain to wrench it open.

His reward was bloodied fingers.

Yasmin watched him, the slow hunger now a raging need. The warrior’s blood smelled sweet. A feast tonight.

Wc 300 Exact.

Compromises

'She wears my ring', the lingering smile on his face announced to all the attendees at the wedding reception.

His fidgety movements betrayed his impatience over her delayed appearance.

"Relax. These ladies always turn up late, must be busy with her makeover," said his cousin shrugging his shoulders casually.

His movements eased, but barely so. His relatives had echoed similar sentiments using different words at various stages of the wedding.

"Stop asking these silly questions. Brides are nervous on their wedding day."

His nosy aunt had stated, overhearing the words exchanged by him and the best mate.

"We, girls, are expected to be shy and modest, at least on such days." The sister had butted in with her wise tuppence patting his arm for added effect.

Maybe they were right, they were experienced after all. Her quiet, solemn look, her rare glancing his way could be explained thus, couldn't it?

His heartache lessened, and he went back to standing at the entrance to the lobby.

***

Through the final touches of makeup, she twirled the diamond engagement ring on her hand. As she glanced at the mirror in front of her, the black and gold beads among other jewellery on her neck glinted back, signalling her married status.

She touched them gingerly with her finger tips eliciting a gentle admonishing from the beautician.

"Madam, please keep your hands down, the nail paint will get blotchy."

Inspecting her fingernails, the young girl sighed, “See, I have to redo it.", looking around for a bottle of remover.

She apologised with a smile, and stared at the ring instead. Little joy rather the feel of it on her finger felt like a heavy weight on her soul. Her heart still beating for another. For the charming boy with the impish grin, who had wound his way around, only to break it into countless pieces years later.

Her husband was a good man, deserving more than she could offer. They were family friends, her parents adored him as his loved her. He had always encouraged her, made her laugh.

*** 

Her transfer would take time. This year of separation would turn out to be a blessing. Looking into his adoring eyes as he took her hand in his, she promised herself, he would never know that their marriage had begun as a compromise for her.

cwc 391 need 109 more

time to change

She sat there sweating profusely, her temper matching the heat outside. Would this too turn out to be a failed attempt? The pressure from the officials had been mounting. New mouths to feed arrived at a steady pace every month, eating into her share of the allocated funds. Being the head of the orphanage was not a lucrative business any more. She was tired of pandering to the egos of higher ups and soliciting new clients for her husband's floundering real estate business at the same time. The dingy room saw less and less of her as days passed by.


 Rama Shankar* pushed his way through the wooden saloon doors, he didn't bother to knock. 
 If she hadn't been preoccupied, would have noticed the smug look that permeated his features these days. "The Pandeys called, Madamji."
"Again? Bringing her...Munni back?" Desperation reducing her voice to a hoarse croak.
"Who tells this poor man anything?" His voice always reminded her of grease scrapped from a steel plate.
 Must want to wash their hands off her. These religious, middle class ones are all the same, just empty talk. "What did you tell them?"
 "The usual, busy with inspection work." He seemed pleased with his lies. His eyes had a hazy quality to them. Had he been...? "How many times have I told you to stay off bhang during working hours?
"Do you want to lose this job too?"
With watering eyes, he quickly prostrated before her, "Have mercy on me, family man, my kids will starve to death." adding, "These kids are like my children, they need me."


He managed to convince her every time; she needed him to cover up her absence. She was about to give him another last warning when the noise outside distracted her. There was a flurry of running feet followed by steadier ones. Snippets of conversation in loud and soft voices could be heard. The rushing feet stopped at her door. Utter silence. The door swung wildly as burly policemen swooped into her space. 
 Two scared looking attendants along with a dozen children of different ages waited just outside the threshold. The Pandeys and a few other parents stood next to an important looking official. The collector and here? 
Munni? Why does she have a glum face?  Looking at the cowering ten year old who stood between her adoptive parents, a familiar sense of something amiss hit her. Something had happened, she was the one scared now. Putting on a brave face, hiding the tremor in her tone and turning to Baldev Singh, the inspector she recognised, "What is the meaning of this, Baldevji?"


Baldev turned to the collector who gave him an impatient nod.  He looked at her sadly. She was a decent woman and yet it had to be done. "Arrest warrants for you and this man here." pointing to the peon who was staring at Munni with a dazed look. 
"Arrest Warrant?" she repeated, bewildered.
"For the rape of Munni and four other minor girls adopted from the orphanage. There are also charges by some of the attendants," looking towards the door, "of being molested." 
"There must some mistake, surely, I would be aware of such happenings." 


"If you had been around and had bothered to notice the obvious signs." Pandeyji spoke for the first time. "We found blood stains on our daughter's clothes. She would't eat properly, woke up screaming every night, woudn't even let my brother hug her.
"One of my neighbours who is a child specialist felt that she had undergone recent trauma. A physical examination by an expert left us with no doubt. My daughter found the courage to tell us everything that happened to her here. So did the other girls." affectionately patting his daughter on her head. "Can we go home, daddy?" Munni asked softly.
"Come on, Baldev, take them into custody. We have to move the remaining children to a safer place, we haven't all day." The collector shook hands with the team and the parents before walking towards the other children.

The Morning After

The blare of the horn sounded repeatedly, every fresh one making his ears ache. He heard voices; the nightmare has ceased he found himself muttering. The stings of cold water all over followed a rough jostle of the arms. He opened his left eye, the glare of the sun momentarily blinding him. A frowning face stared back, and yet the tiny pair of eyes sparkled with unmistakable humour as they travelled over his body. A high pitched chatter to his left and a wave of pain coursed through his head.

His thoughts were dimly focusing on the something poking into his back, rather his skin. He sat up straight scaring the old lady who almost fell on her back. “Sorry, ma’am” the apology came naturally. What puzzled him were the hoots of laughter from the pavement. Pavement? What was he doing there? Looking down at himself, he wished he had never woken up.

The hoots grew louder until the old lady raised her palm. She was questioning him pointing to the other comatose body. Eddie! He found himself smiling. The tall, lanky boy looked downright silly in his boxers and socks. They hadn’t even spared them their shoes. Was that dried blood on his face? “No Chinese, someone around speak English?” The lady turned to a girl, pointing out to the adjacent door. In the ensuing silence, he tried to recollect the events of last night. They had had a light dinner, a few drinks when their new found friend had suggested hitting some of the moderate hotspots along Clarke Quay. The waitresses at Hooter had been a welcome sight. But man, expensive for a student like me. The food was different. Eddie was devouring it like no tomorrow, that yankee. Next stop had been some nightclub, nice spot, and those girls with that weird, coloured hair. Wigs. Come to think of it, they seemed less like girls and more like…

“Hello.” the accent hadn’t lost its British touch. He felt better despite the loss of his I.D and wallet, even his I phone.

“Nice pickle you’re in. Indian?”

“No, British-Pakistani” he bristled.

“That attitude isn’t going to help you. You guys look the same.” As an afterthought, “Maybe, I should let the local police handle this. No one here wants trouble.”

Abbas’s blood ran cold. Police meant questioning, calls to his relatives, the embassy, embarrassment even jailed for lack of papers …His elder brother would kill him if his uncle did not. How would he explain his drinking and hangouts?

“I apologise, wasn’t thinking straight. Please help us. We are good boys, international exchange students at the SMU.”

“Better get in unless you want to get toasted.”

He felt like punching the white guy’s face at his insolence but needed him for now. In what he hoped was a meek voice, he asked, “What about my friend?”

“Get him inside or leave him here, not my concern.”

 Abbas looked around. The crowd seemed to be drifting off. The old lady smiled at him kindly. He nodded, put his hands under Eddie’s shoulders, and dragged him along carefully. A couple of teens came to his aid. The three of them managed to pull his friend over the threshold of what seemed a reception area of a home office. They lay him across the nearest chair. Abbas turned to thank the boys. He had nothing to give them except words. They ran away laughing, no doubt eager to share the tale amongst their friends.

“Here, put these on.” handing over a set of clothes too long for his 5’8’’ frame. It was better than being half naked around that pretty looking girl from earlier who lingered around. Must work here, jumping in the pants in haste.

“What’s the deal? “

The deal. Going home with a believable story or tracking down the orange haired muggers. One night out and disaster struck, small mercy he had forgotten his passport in the dorm.

660 cwc   need to make it 713

My hidden view

The rod barely missed my shoulder. We stood still like the dead rocks scattered on the grounds below. I sense much hatred and anger, through the constricting alcove, suffocating me. I long for the fresh, pure air of our homeland.

‘Fiaz’, wonder what they have in store for him?

 ‘A true warrior never denies his adversaries a chance at peace,’ he often said. Despite the respect and admiration we bestow, I don’t quite agree with him.

Some are not meant to be forgiven, those that have betrayed him to this dungeon. Our minds may be powerful, but our bodies no match for these vampire guards.

Eliza tugs at my arms, signaling our need to leave. My leaden feet refuse to cross the distance that takes us away from my brother and friends held hostage in the stinking chamber. The spiked chair to the right makes the devious intentions obvious. ‘Stand together but live to fight another day.’ If only, he hadn’t made us swear the blood oath before the journey commenced, I would be sharing the iron chains that bound them or dead by his feet.

The screams were unnerving, voices from the inner cell assaulting us. Inhuman moans, the incessant muttering of the slowly drained. One look at her and I knew, we would have to sneak out soon. For a novice mage, she was holding up well, but it wouldn’t be long before she lost control. The spell weakens, even as I touch her shoulder, careful not to betray my fears as our eyes meet.

The Ghals’s magic is simpler and limited. They can’t sense the invisibility shield. It protects and keeps our presence secret as we seek the point of entry. We had hardly walked a few paces when an agonised scream pierced through our tense thoughts.

My blood runs cold, her eyes water. Now, it’s me who pulls her along. We need reinforcements, and fast, lest our men end up as the next meal.

Wc 328

The Dance - New beginnings

"Dya*, hurry. They are coming." I panted through the half open door. My ribs ached with every short breath taken.  

Had never run so fast, doing 5 miles without a pause. The silence from within caused strange sensations in my stomach. The hinges creaked in annoyance as I pushed the obstruction away. The room was in disarray, everything upturned. From the centre of the hall I could see that none of the adjoining areas had been spared. There were wet, muddy shoe and foot prints overlapping as though jostling for valuable space. Three clear sets led me to the bottom of the stairs, to the bedrooms above. I crept up slowly unsure of what lay in wait, the pocket knife transferred from the back pocket to my trembling hands.  

I wouldn't wish the scene before my eyes on Stefanek, the village bully. The four bodies lay in crumbled and heaped postures, unsuccessful in fending off the killers, now gone. I vomited my morning meal on the dirtied carpet under my feet. A low moan from the nearest figure brought to life my fledging courage. Wiping away the hot, furious tears I stumbled forward, she was breathing still. The book was safely hidden for now. I covered the shredded remains of her dress with a blanket, lifted her as tenderly as I could in my arms and fled through the back door.

***

I have been standing for more than an hour on the hillock watching with tired eyes and limbs, the devastation below. Half glad Aishe* wasn't with me, conjured a mental image of the agonised screams of the dying. Her kind heart would have never permitted this. The other half of me was willing to give up the world to see her awake and smiling. The swirling, blackish grey waters mirrored the stain on my soul. Large carcasses of their livestock and pieces of wood, the remnants of their mighty houses and boats floated idly along. Pity, a couple of young trees had to give way.

The flood waters would take at least a week to recede, competently destroying whatever stood in their way including the fresh harvest.

This had been the most exhilarating dance I have ever attempted. The river, my companion and slave mimicked my movements as she spread over the accursed village. I played the Kristora* sparing the villages that didn't harm us. The memories gushed back, uninvited. My father's pleas of innocence falling on deaf, hateful ears. His last words before they staked him. "Make them pay."

They stole our land, our home, murdered my mother, and violated the older sister beyond human endurance. She sleeps the sleep of the living dead. 

A tiny hand tugs at my shirt sleeve, whining, “Let's go. It’s cold here."

I pull him into the warmth of my arms reluctantly, the adrenaline still coursing through my veins screaming 'Enemy'. We control the elements, a gift passed from mother to her daughters and first born son. Grandma refused to let him die, so he lives to see the death of his unknown fathers with his eyes. My father had been the youngest of six, as powerless as the ones who accused him of black magic.

I stood silent for a few minutes more before trudging back to the trees, the tall pines already casting their needles on the floor.

Harman* loves the rustling sounds around. He turns back and forth in jerky movements causing my shoulders to ache some more. The clan believes that the winter winds are less harsh since his birth. We live deep in the forest. The ignorant folks in the valley below think it is enchanted and evil and refuse to enter. Sometimes, blind faith can be a blessing. We planted the stories.

The ancient book says that our ancestors came from the East, from the land of seven rivers. One day, we will journey back, beyond the narrow confines of our adopted homeland. Harman and me.

We live in tents now, easier to assemble and dismantle in times of danger. Grandma is waiting by ours with a scowling face. She knows, always does. 

"Where have you been wandering about at this hour?"

"Nowhere. Just attending to some unfinished business." as he jumps out of my hold and scampers off to the dinner fires.

Wc 718


*Dya - Mother, Kristora - the judges.
* The words used are Romani - the language of the Romas, the gypsies of Europe whose ancestors are said to have migrated  from northern and central India around 1000 years ago.
Linguistic and genetic studies prove with reasonable accuracy that they belong to existing Indian tribes of travelling musicians.
* I wanted to give the dancing aspect a magical touch.

Destiny foretold

Amir fidgeted.

The dwelling talks disturbed him, increasing with Sagina’s worried looks.

He was loath to leave their only home, the world outside baffled his simple mind.

‘Did he have a choice? He had sworn to the tree spirits to protect his sisters with his life.’

‘Go check on her. Keep your tongue coiled.”

Sagina frowned; silent words betrayed her open mouth. She was a Bora woman, never speaking their minds.

He was ashamed of the leaders, all save his father.

She had been a barter of risk for the expensive, useful gifts her father sent every full moon. Two such moons had passed. The gifts didn’t arrive nor word from the river clan. They debated sending her back or selling her off to another tribe.

 He unsheathed his new scimitar, slicing it through invisible enemies. They hadn’t made much headway with her lessons. Mastering the letters had seemed fair exchange for self defense techniques, sadly turning out as one way assimilation.

The sounds of running feet had him colliding with his sister and servant as he lifted the flap.

“Can’t find her anywhere…she’s gone.’

“Get a grip, search thoroughly.”

“No one's seen her at the breakfast langar, master.”

“Must be with the children.”

“Hasn’t visited them in the last three days.”

“Ready my horse. I leave immediately.”

“Where to?”

“The forest, she wanders into.”

“Pack our bags before we return, a long journey awaits us.”

“And mine, brother?”

“No, your place is here.”

The lonely figure trudged its way into the forest. The footfalls unwittingly leaving a trail behind. She had been abandoned twice. The memories of her biological family a blip, that of her foster home painfully fresh.

‘An orphan's life would have been better.’

The overhead words rebounded among the strange looking trees.

‘Was it true? It’s obvious; I am no tribeswoman but a clan member…’

Her curiosity had her following impressionable Sagina last night. Suspecting a lover’s tryst, she had chosen to gather proof Amir would need before he believed her. The soft, jingling steps ahead, falling on the gravel in front of the green columns of men’s tents intrigued and scared her.

 The poisonous sentences lent weight to her recurrent doubts. Her world turned on itself.

Born to the clan whose magic resided in the names of the children, the one written in the runes cast, made her dangerous. Her father and the seer had tried in vain to protect her secret. A betraying uncle, three raids on the outpost had the council scurrying to get rid of the abomination.

She was sent off to live as a six year old with the Boras, the warrior tribe that lived on the fringes of the old forest. They treated her better than their women. She had a tutor.

‘Must have been the gifts.’

The Boras never ventured into the forest, beyond defined limits. The tree spirits they worshipped lived deep inside. The feared Maitri, the mages of the wild made it their abode.

She began to catch the change in landscape; scarred, broken trees like her spirit filled her vision. Seductive voices whispered and pulled her to the clearing. Before her was a stone dwelling with three chairs in stone carved with human bones, a red stool near one.

“Turn back child.” a voice warned.

“Fear not, little one. Join us, embrace your destiny.” crooned one of the earlier ones.

She stood still, while the voices battled until one was silenced forever.

Amir galloping fast, reached, only to watch in horror as ghostly, gnarled hands nudged her forward.

“Stop, come with me.”

“Leave now; the Boras will live to see another day.”

“Not without her.”

 He rushed forward, to be thrown back by the magical barriers.

“Kali, listen to me. They are dangerous, they are the Maitri.”

She turned around, awakening from a dream. Stared at the grey figures, then at him. Sad eyes appealed to him.

“Go, brother, before they hurt you.”

“Before I truly become – Kali the destroyer.”

 He inched forward, unheeding, hacking at the invisible walls. Only to find; an empty square and earth scorched to the darkest black.

‘He wouldn’t rest. Would search the ends of the world till he found her.’

The clan would be the first stop. Despite his contempt, he needed them.