Chương 62: The eternal egoist

Thus concluded the battle.

Reuniting with the group of rebels, I felt a jolt of shock upon seeing that Nala had lost his forearm. Yet, what truly pierced my heart was the sight of Rohini, unconscious, having plummeted from a treacherous height. My immediate instinct was to retreat to my room and retrieve Ishqam’s clothes. Thankfully, communication with the others was streamlined; I held onto the phone the lab technicians had given me, and we used written chat to converse.

Surprisingly, Nila, often seen as the timid one, didn’t let a tear fall despite the carnage around him. His close friends and family were severely wounded, and of his fleet of handmade drones, only a mere 3 or 4 returned unscathed.

However, in the grand scheme of things, it was a resounding victory for the rebels. The toll was 36 of our own, in contrast to over 100 of the enemy. The remaining foes promptly surrendered upon the loss of their commanders. As for reinforcements? They never arrived. As whispers suggest, someone from 1st Lieutenant Kalakuna’s unit might have sabotaged the alarm system. The HQ was none the wiser until the morning report failed to come in the next day.

Nila, along with some of his peers, tinkered with my implant, enhancing its sound quality. They integrated a compressor for loud noises, like Gandiva’s, reduced the pain from static interference, and reconfigured it for two-way communication.

Both Nala and Rohini received medical attention in Lahore. While Nala’s recovery spanned a mere two months, Rohini’s treatment stretched on for a year, for she had tragically lost the use of her legs. I was graciously offered quarters in the Jamani Mahila palace and made it a point to visit Rohini regularly. Her waking up after three months only to learn of her life-altering disability was a moment that shattered me. Her crestfallen expression in that instant will forever be etched in my memory.

In the backdrop of all this, a group from a distant land, Nubia—touted as the world’s wealthiest nation—reached out to Nala and the rebel leaders. Their proposition was to oversee the country until it was ready for self-governance. Nala, radiating a newfound pacifistic demeanour, accepted their terms, although it didn’t sit well with all. Some of his comrades felt betrayed, voicing their anguish that their sacrifices might’ve been in vain had this foreign intervention been preordained.

Whispers and hushed talks painted a clearer picture of that ill-fated night. Rumour had it that the major and the 1st lieutenant met their end in a midnight car crash. And just like that, the final tether to my old life disintegrated in an unspectacular twist of fate. Over the subsequent year, the British forces gradually pulled out from the nation. And, in a momentous occasion that coincided with Rohini’s return, the King of England proclaimed India’s independence, marking it with the signing of the constitution.

Nala declined his offered seat in the Senate. He stated that he was more a warrior than a politician and bore no desire to rule the country. His sole dream—attaining independence—had been realized. However, his decision elicited vocal opinions from his comrades. Many had perhaps expected Nala to accept, likely hoping to influence his decisions in the Senate. I, being largely oblivious to the nuances of politics, could only speculate.

Nila pursued higher education, enrolling in university to study medicine. He proposed the idea of a prosthetic arm to Nala, who rejected it outright, desiring to bear his battle scar as a perpetual reminder.

Rohini, tragically, descended into a deep melancholy. The vibrant and humorous spirit that once captivated me had faded, replaced by an overwhelming desolation. She became reclusive, with her room becoming her world.

In this newfound tranquillity, I discovered that a peaceful daily life was ill-suited for my restless spirit. In search of an escape, Nala, an ardent fan of science fiction, introduced me to his collection, and I found solace in literature. The steampunk realms, especially Jules Verne’s “Voyages Extraordinaires”, fascinated me. I yearned to embark on global adventures but found myself anchored, awaiting the resurgence of Rohini’s vivacity.

This static existence persisted for two years. One evening, upon my return from Lahore after a meeting with Nila, a heartwarming sight awaited me. Rohini was in one of the living rooms, conversing with Nala.

Joyful, I approached her, “Good day to you, my lady. You grace us with your presence today?”

She looked at me, her gaze soft and full of reminiscence, causing a pang in my heart. “You’ve matured so much, Schwa. You’ve transformed. You radiate womanhood now.”

 

 

Despite our prolonged separation, my height had only increased slightly. I retorted playfully, “How presumptuous! I’ve always been a woman.”

Her laugh, delicate and endearing, resonated. “That’s not what I meant. You were such a tomboy when I first met you.”

Nala, ever the solemn one, interjected, “Are you certain about this?”

“Yes,” affirmed Rohini.

Despite intruding upon their conversation, my curiosity got the better of me, “What were you both discussing?”

Nala averted his gaze, a sign of reluctance, but it was Rohini who divulged, “We’re going to get married.”

The revelation didn’t wound me as I might have expected. It merely cemented the notion that the Rohini I once knew had forever changed.

“Congratulations,” I murmured, forcing a smile, and retreated to my chambers.

Three months hence, a grand ceremony was held in Jamani, which I chose not to attend. Nine months later, they welcomed a child into their lives. However, the arrival stirred no emotions in me.

My introspection was interrupted two months later when a loud crash echoed through the palace corridors. Rushing towards the source, I discovered Rohini, having toppled from her wheelchair.

“Are you okay?” I rushed over, helping her into her wheelchair. “Did you hurt yourself? Why on earth did you attempt the stairs in a wheelchair?!”

“I needed something, and no one was around. Can you assist me, Schwa?”

“Of course. What do you need?”

“A towel.”

“Alright, stay still. I’ll help you back up.”

She murmured her thanks, her voice soft and fragile, “You’re always so kind, Schwa.” As I carefully carried her back to her room, I also grabbed a towel.

Stepping into her bedroom, I noticed how it had evolved since my last visit. In a dimly lit corner, a cradle sat with a tiny baby cooing and gurgling within. I gently placed Rohini onto her bed and couldn’t help but approach the cradle, my intrigue growing.

Such an odd little creature…

“Is this your first time seeing him?” Rohini’s laughter twinkled like chimes.

I nodded, still staring at the baby, “What’s his name?”

“Abhimanyu, like Arjuna’s son from the Mahabharata.”

“That’s quite the name. Let me guess, Nala’s choice?”

She chuckled, “Right on the money. Though I prefer calling him Abhi.”

“Abhi… It’s endearing.”

She eyed me for a moment before suggesting, “Do you want to hold him?”

I recoiled, “Absolutely not! Babies and I don’t mix. By the way, wasn’t childbirth challenging given your condition?”

With a smirk, she replied, “You’d be surprised, cesarean sections make it much easier these days.”

I crouched beside the cradle, taking a closer look at the infant. He had a warm brown skin tone reminiscent of his parents, contrasted by his mother’s snowy-white hair.

Breaking the silence, I sought answers, “So, have you given up?”

“On what?”

“On your aspiration. You once told me about your desire to become a god. Have you forsaken that path?”

Her gaze turned distant, reflecting on the past. “It’s heartening you remember. No, I haven’t forsaken it. It’s just that accepting some realities took time. I lost my legs and had to relinquish certain ambitions.”

I lightly tapped the baby’s soft cheek, eliciting a cute pout, “Which ambitions?”

“Vengeance. I once mentioned my parents were tragically betrayed and killed.”

“I remember,” I murmured as the baby surprisingly clasped my finger with his tiny grip.

“I can’t seek vengeance anymore. Accepting that was hard.”

“Why not just ask me? I would have done it. I could eliminate anyone for you.”

She sighed deeply, her voice a mere whisper, “It was something I felt I needed to do myself. But now, it doesn’t matter. I don’t even know the culprits.” Pausing, she continued, “And your other question? Why I married Nala? At that moment, I needed purpose, a reason to continue. It saved me from the brink. Do you think it was misguided?”

I responded instantly, “Yes.”

Her eyebrows furrowed, “Why?”

Frustration bubbling, I shot back, “Didn’t you confess that you were...? That you didn’t feel for…”

“Men? That was a fleeting fantasy, a pipe dream. Look at my beautiful son. Would I have had him if I’d chosen a woman? I had to shed my self-centred tendencies.”

I snapped, my voice raw with emotion, “BULLSHIT! EVERYONE IS SELF-CENTRED! YOU WERE THE ONE WHO TAUGHT ME THAT!” My scream echoed, setting off the baby’s cries.

With swift grace, Rohini wheeled over to the cradle, gently lifting her son and cradling him, singing a lullaby to soothe his tears.

Swallowing my anger, I flopped onto the bed, muffling my own sobs with my hands, as the haunting melody of her song enveloped the room.

Eight months have passed since then, and I’ve slowly adjusted to this new version of Rohini. While I may not hold the same fondness for her as before, her presence remains invaluable to me. I might not agree with her choices, but I’m genuinely glad she found a way to persist, even if it meant altering the very fabric of her existence.

She once narrated tales of her parents’ homeland—a paradisiacal island in the Pacific where freedom was the only rule. They often told her it was the world’s sanctuary. Yet, when I inquired about their reasons for leaving such a place, she was at a loss for words.

Now, I find myself spending more time with her and Abhi. On one occasion, as I was changing his diaper, he uttered a sound that closely resembled 'bwa', and I unabashedly declared to everyone that his first word was ‘Schwa’.

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As Rohini has shifted, I’ve taken up the mantle of the staunch egoist she once was. After all, the world isn’t spacious enough for two deities.

Today, I’m babysitting Abhi again. He’s taken his first tentative steps, managing two or three seconds before toppling. As I prepare his formula, he eagerly crawls in my direction. “You insatiable little imp!” Just then, the kitchen door swings open, revealing Nila. His unexpected return caught me off guard.

Spotting his father, Abhi makes an unsteady dash towards him. Nila, with impeccable timing, swoops him up just as he’s about to faceplant.

Giving Nila a casual wave, I greet, “What brings you here?”

“My internship wrapped up early. How about a stroll with this little rascal?”

“Sounds good. Get him fed while I gear up.”

Heading to my quarters, I run into Nala in the corridor. “How’s Abhi?” He inquires.

“All good. Nila’s back, and we plan to take him out. You need anything?”

He looks momentarily surprised. “Nila’s here? Nevermind that. I’ve got to chat with our dad. Keep the munchkin out and about for a while.”

“Will do.” I nod, continuing to my room. My interactions with the twins’ father have been sparse—just once since my move here. He left an indelible impression of a deeply melancholic and jaded man.

Emerging fully attired, I noticed that my wardrobe has evolved. It’s been ages since Ishqam’s outfits suited me. Hence, with Nila’s financial aid, I replenished my collection, ensuring the new additions echoed the style of the former.

With Abhi snug in my arms, we set off for Lahore in Nila’s sleek car. Our day unfolds leisurely, meandering through chic boutiques and cosy cafes until twilight.

Upon our return to Jamani, the conspicuous absence of the household staff is unsettling.

Noticing Abhi’s drooping eyelids, I make my way to Rohini’s quarters, placing him gently in his cradle. It strikes me as peculiar not to find Rohini at this hour, but she’s probably with Nala.

Descending the staircase, I spot an edgy Nila. “I believe they’re out in the garden.”

Approaching the garden door, its large, opaque stained-glass design looms. Pressing an ear against it, I hope my implant might amplify any distant conversations.

“Why did you have to kill Auntie Nishaa?! Father, don’t you understand? Our struggle is over. The war has ended. We won. Why can’t you move on?” I strain to make out Nala’s voice through the thick glass.

His father’s voice, thick with rage and bitterness, retorts. “No word you speak will find purchase with me, you traitor. You betrayed me, Nala!”

From the shadows of the conversation, Rohini’s voice rises, a mixture of desperation and frustration. “And what of my parents? Were they not betrayed too? Why the outrage when it’s about you, but indifference when it concerns your friends?”

“YOU IGNORANT CHILD!” His voice bellows, echoing in the night air. “You naive girl! Your parents were the real traitors! I kept silent, not wishing to shatter the idol you held of them!”

“WHAT ARE YOU EVEN SAYING?!” Rohini’s voice trembles with shock and disbelief.

“Father, that can’t be right.”

“It’s the truth. They were nothing but fugitives, charlatans! Did they ever share the real reason they fled their beloved island? They were on the lam!”

“You monster! How dare you utter such blasphemy?!” There’s the unmistakable sound of something, perhaps a vase, crashing to the ground.

“Rohini, are you alright?”

“That witch and her treacherous lineage. They deceived me, and now she’s ensnared Nala in her web of deceit.”

“That’s not true, Father. Rohini has no part in this.”

“The end is near!”

“We need to intervene.” My voice trembles as I glance at Nila. His face, usually composed, is a mask of terror.

“It’s all a ruse. My internship hadn’t ended. I’d received whispers about some dark designs at Jamani. I didn’t expect it so soon. We need to flee. Now.”

“Wait, what?”

The chilling sound of a gun firing interrupts our whispered conversation. Panicking, I press my ear to the glass once more.

“NALA!”

The shuffle and clamour of what seems like a multitude signals an ominous turn. Nala’s pained voice surfaces from the chaos. “If this is the end, make it swift…”

Desperation fills me. I reach for the door handle, but Nila’s iron grip holds me back. “It’s a death trap! There must be thirty of them at least!”

The voice of an unfamiliar man, dripping with malicious satisfaction, chimes in. “Oh, the sweet taste of vengeance, right gentlemen?”

Another voice, cold and mocking, adds, “If only you’d taken your rightful place in the Senate, Nala. None of this would have transpired.”

Gunfire rings out once more. Rohini’s voice, filled with protective ferocity, resonates: “Do whatever you wish with me, but do not harm Abhi.”

A sneering voice replies, “Rest assured, the heir of Jamani will be treated with the reverence he deserves.”

A series of shots sound out, sending shivers down my spine. Nila tugs at my arm, urging me into motion. The surreal nature of the situation threatens to overwhelm me. Is this some twisted nightmare or grim reality?

“We need to flee. And Abhi comes with us. We can’t linger.”

Bolting upstairs, I retrieve Gandiva from its resting place. I rush into Rohini’s chamber, scoop up the sleeping Abhi, and sprint back down, only to spot the menacing figures emerging from the garden.

“THERE SHE IS! STOP HER!”

“SHE HAS THE HEIR!”

“HALT, VRITRA!”

“STOP, VRITRA!”

Using Gandiva, not as its intended weapon, but as a blunt instrument, I fend off the advancing threats. We leap into Nila’s waiting vehicle, its engine roaring to life.

Abhi’s cries pierce the tense silence. I’m clueless about soothing him. After a relentless drive, Nila finally halts the car, the weight of the events crushing us. With our enemies’ far reach, we’ll surely be discovered within days.

In between ragged breaths, Nila chokes out, “Any idea where we could seek refuge?”

Gently cradling Abhi’s head to my chest, I soothe him back to sleep with tender strokes.

“Rohini once spoke of an island in the Pacific, a haven where freedom reigns—Omond. It might be our only sanctuary.” My eyelids grow heavy, even as the name of our potential haven lingers in the air.

Whether it’s heaven or hell, it may be the only place on Earth where we can find shelter…

…

I blink open my eyes eight years later, finding myself on the operation table of our hidden underground bunker. The cold, sterile lights above cast a harsh glow, revealing the familiar curves and lines of medical equipment. As my emotions threaten to engulf me, I frantically scan the room until my gaze lands on a familiar pair of glasses, shielded by locks of white hair.

A rush of adrenaline propels me to attempt to rise, but my limbs, weakened by time and inactivity, betray me, causing me to stumble and crash onto the cold floor.

“Sch-”

“Hush! Not a word!” he interjects sharply.

Tears brimming in my eyes, I can barely hold back as I pull myself into his embrace. “Abhi! The very thought of losing you was unbearable.”

He smirks, his signature confidence evident. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice something as glaring as a fire?”

With a choked laugh, I reply, “I’ve always known you were the brightest mind out there. A precious gem in this vast universe. And undoubtedly, the most dashing man in all the realms.”

He rolls his eyes playfully, “You never cease to be so over the top.”

“IT’S NOT EXAGGERATION!” My voice cracks as I shout, the dam of emotions finally breaking. Tears flow freely as I murmur between sobs, “Thank you, Abhi. Thank you … over and over.”

It’s poetic justice, I muse, that I now find solace in his embrace, just as he did in mine years ago. The fact that he was but an infant then is inconsequential.

Stubborn as ever, I silently vow to remain an egoist forever.

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