Chapter 8: An Evil Enchantress

So it wasn't so much of a Lover's Point, after all, Darsh thought as he trudged after his guide up towards the hilltop. Dusk was thickening around them with the path getting murkier by the minute. Some stars were out and a sickle moon had risen cocooned in its own misty aura.

It was an inexplicably tranquil evening. Cool and quiet, full of the fragrance of green grass and warm soil. Romantic, a little voice chirped inside him as his gaze pinned on the shapely back of his companion.

She had gone quiet again after seeing off the little family at the fork. Her smile had vanished and was replaced by a wistful expression. He wondered if she was remembering her father. Because it was her father who had committed suicide at Lover's Point. Balwant Rai Sharma was the only landlord around here. And Susheel Sharma was his only dead son. Darsh now could somewhat understand her angry reaction to Lover's Point. But he knew there was much more to that enigmatic place. There was much more she was still hiding.

"We need to reach the temple before the evening prayers."

That was all she'd managed to say in her haughty discomfort. And nodding to her was all he had managed in his acute embarrassment. He wished he could talk to her. That he had created some goodwill with her that would've allowed him some leeway. There was so much about her outside of that small folder, he was realizing it now. Knowledge was his weapon and without it, he felt woefully underprepared.

But it was too late, he had lost that opportunity. He had started on the wrong footing with his taunts and snide remarks. She won't welcome any probing questions now and even if he dared, he wasn't likely to get any straight answers. Friendship, he had offered, but not in good faith. And she seemed to have realized it, as his offer was declined. Not that he regretted it, he told himself firmly. But pretending to be genuine might have made his job easier.

They trudged on through the forest to the music of chirping night insects and the gurgling of some distant streams. Fireflies twinkled in and out through the dense bushes casting a magical haze on the surrounding.

His eyes stayed on her, scrutinizing her as had been his favorite hobby these past few days. Every graceful move, every slight quirk, he drank in thirstily. The thick rope of her braid swayed like a snake taunting him every second. She seemed to be emitting a faint glow in her wake, as he followed her dreamily. It was like a fairytale forest with a fairy princess guiding him along. Mythical, alluring, yet distant, out of reach.

The evening had stirred him inexplicably. The golden image of her laughing with the little boy wouldn't leave him alone. Nor did the man's words.

Wife? Girlfriend? he'd asked. What was she to him?

Nothing really. She was no one to him. Nor did he want her to be, he scoffed in annoyance.

Nor is she likely to be, that irritating little voice poked again. But she would someday be someone else's beloved, someone else's wife. She would be a mother to someone else's child.

Now that was impossible, he thought clenching his fists. He'd make sure that never happened. Not because he wanted her for himself, oh no. But because she didn't deserve it. She won't be allowed anything that Vicki was denied. Period.

His thoughts involuntarily turned to his brother who was currently lying unconscious in a hospital bed surrounded by innumerable machines. Somehow he was still alive, but just barely.

Darsh still remembered the day years ago when he'd seen Vicki for the first time. They had never met before owing to his Aunt's jet-setting lifestyle. A little boy of five, he was too quiet, too subdued. He had instantly felt protective towards him. On his part, Vicki had instantly warmed to him, latching onto him like a father figure. His Aunt had looked visibly relieved, probably wondering why she hadn't thought of this idea before. She lived her life in a fast lane from one vacation to another, one boyfriend to the next. There was no time or place for a child. That too an unwanted child, an accidental birth to boot that she was unable to prevent. Her husband had never bothered either. His wife had many admirers. Any of them could have sired Vicki. She herself probably didn't know, and neither did she care.

It was a wretched existence, already full of misery. He didn't need this additional torture. In the name of God, he didn't need any more suffering on account of another despicable woman.

Darsh looked at the woman in front of him, the fairy princess guiding him to his destination. More like an evil enchantress luring him to her lair. She would soon find an opportunity to sink her teeth into him. He was eager for that time when she'd reveal her true colors.

His lips pursed as he looked ahead. They had crossed the forest and reached the hilltop. A majestic old temple carved out of black rock loomed ahead of them. White flowers bloomed around filling the air with a heady scent. White was Lord Shiva's favorite color, he remembered his Ma telling him once.

He also knew the prasad(offering) here sometimes involved mild cannabis mixed in the food. A small pinch of potent cannabis was enough, he was told, to blunt anyone's senses and loosen their tongue. It helped relax, and made a person giddy with happiness. He was going to use it tonight. He didn't care if his quarry was happy or not. But he needed to get her talking.

His options were limited. Confrontations, he must avoid. But confess she must. She had to own her actions. Hiding them conveniently, denying them outright helped her assuage her conscience and keep to business as usual. But that was unfair. That had to stop.
There were only so many ways he could do it, drugging her was the safest of them. And he was a respectable man. He was not going to take advantage of her if there was even such a thing with her. If push comes to shove he could always blame it on the offering.
His hand went to the left pocket of his jeans where a small packet lay tucked in safely waiting to be used at the right time. And the right time was approaching fast, he couldn't believe his luck it was already here.
She was vulnerable at the moment. She was sad at the memory of her dead father. These hills probably held a part of her painful past. But that didn't absolve her of her sin. She had his sympathy but not his forgiveness. For that, she'd need to do her penance. Long and harsh, just like his brother.

 

*****

 

Brass bells chimed in a soft breeze as they alighted. Aditi removed her shoes and dipped her feet in a nearby stream before entering the temple. Her companion followed her involuntarily, quietly mimicking her actions. He was not bad to have around, she conceded, as long as he kept his mouth shut and didn't show his scowling face.

They had missed the evening prayers. A bright lamp burned in the Lord's inner sanctum as an old priest stood in the front with folded hands. She raised an arm to ring a brass bell, then folded her hands to the Lord. The priest turned at the sound. In an instant, she noticed his gaunt face, his pearly eyes. He had aged in past twelve years. Much more than he ought to have.

Straining his milky eyes he gazed at her, trying to place her. There was a flicker of doubt on his weathered face before a bright smile of recognition ignited it.

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"Aditi Bitia...I never thought I would see you again! It's been twelve years!" he exclaimed as he hobbled to them. She bent down to touch his feet and he put his shaking hand on her head. "Bless you, my child. May the Lord grant you happiness and long life."

Aditi stiffened. Happiness and long life? Who was he kidding? He used to bless her parents in a similar way. But it seemed his pleas fell on deaf ears. The Lord didn't care. And fate was its own master, she had learned it the hard way.

She shook her head to get rid of the gloomy thoughts and schooled her expression back to smile pleasantly. "How are you, Baba? You don't look well and your eyes are worse. When was the last time you had an eye test?"

"I am fine, Bitia," he answered in a heavy voice. "Just waiting for the Lord to call me to him. It should have been me that day. It should have been me rather than Meera Bitia." His voice shook as his rheumy eyes filled with tears.

Aditi patted his hand. "Please don't blame yourself, Baba. It was not your fault. No one could have done anything anyway."

"But I couldn't help her. She died in front of us and I couldn't..." the priest choked uneasily.

Aditi's face paled. Yes, she'd died in front of them. And none of them had been able to help. Aditi, her father, or the priest. All they had done was watch helplessly as her mother writhed in pain. It was unbearable. The horror, the pain of the sufferer. The acute guilt and shame of the onlookers. Each of them had carried the burden ever since. And each of them had suffered the consequences. Her eyes swept around the temple. Some walls were chipped, and the floor was broken. Her Dadaji had neglected to fund the repairs lately. Clearly, the Lord too had to suffer consequences, just as the mere mortals.

She saw her companion fidgeting and gathered her thoughts. Although he enjoyed free entertainment, it didn't have to be about her parents' tragic deaths.

"Can I have some laddus?" he brazenly asked, breaking their emotional reunion. "I'm quite hungry. I hope there is decent food to eat here?"

The priest looked slightly taken aback, noticing him for the first time. Then rushed hastily to hand him a motichur laddu. "It's the Lord's offering." he smiled a toothless smile. "And don't worry about food Sahib. It won't be a feast, but I promise you won't go hungry."

Her companion gobbled up the laddu, then spread his hand for more. The priest gave him the last two, then turned back to her with an eager smile. "Will you cook with me tonight, Bitia? Like you used to with Chote Malik?"

"Of course, Baba," Aditi's face lit with the memory. "We'll cook together."

 

*****

 

Darsh sat cross-legged in the tiny kitchen listening to the old priest as he recounted the number of times his Chote Malik had visited this place. He used to visit with Bade Malik as a youngster. Then he visited with his friends. In later years, he often brought his family. First his young wife, then his young daughter. Each time they visited, the man cooked for his wife a simple fare of daal-chawal. In later years his daughter too joined in, learning from her father the art of cooking on a kerosene stove.

They had gotten this temple repaired and erected a small Sarai with a couple of rooms and a small kitchen. It had helped the priest with accommodation and the extra room could be used by anyone who wanted to stay overnight. That was the room Darsh was allotted for tonight, the priest informed him proudly. Darsh wondered if it was his age, or if he actually didn't realize they needed two rooms. Or it could be that the priest didn't care what the princess did, with whom she did. Now that was absolutely logical possibility, Darsh had to agree.

He was still processing the information he'd gathered on their arrival. Her mother had also died in some tragic circumstances. Well, that was life, he sighed shrugging his shoulders. Again, she had his sympathy, and that was all.

The priest droned on completely forgetting they were supposed to cook together. The girl didn't seem to mind as she'd already taken charge. They sat chatting in the warm glow of an oil lamp as she prepared the food with the same ease that she handled her horse. With absolute control, and perfect precision. Like a doctor performing an intricate surgery. There was no extraneous movement, no spillage, and no wastage. He had to give she had chosen a perfect profession and a perfect hobby, whichever of the two it was.

The priest finally went quiet when the food was served. Darsh agreed it was not a feast. Yet he ate heartily. Towards the end, he took out a laddu spiked with his cannabis and offered it to her.

"Here. I can't eat so many sweets. And I reckon you didn't get any prasad."

She thanked him graciously and accepted it. It would take some time for the drug to take effect. But he was in no rush.

 

***** *****

 

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