part0038

Kalki didn’t leave for the antyeshi of his father. He was too weak for that, unlike Arjan, who carried out the funerary duties. He was changed; his face had a scar which instinctively made people recoil. The scar was a reminder that Arjan would lament every day of his life. That was worse than death. He had seen, from far, the antyeshi , away from his disappointed and grieving mother who knew no consolation. She deserved better than a bunch of Mlecchas taking away her husband. She deserved so much more for she had always been a noble woman.

He travelled to the place where the bloodshed had taken place. Kalki came here, not to recall the tragedy, but to see if his father had left anything behind. The tents of the Mlecchas had been torn down, and the horror of the fire pits was filled with Mleccha bodies.

The triumph of a battle often ends with innocent casualties.

And that was when he heard it. It was like a croak—a harsh noise that pricked his ears, as the words came glaringly clear—

“Vishnu! Vishnu!”

Kalki knelt down. In the midst of the broken down tent was a cage and in it there was a dishevelled but magnificent parrot, just looking up at Kalki.

“How do you know my father’s name?”

Kalki didn’t understand. He pulled open the cage door and let the parrot fly away.

The name was almost hurting him. The parrot must have known his father, some way or the other. Kalki didn’t have anything to feed it, so he just patted it. The parrot climbed on his hand, slowly making his way up to his shoulder.

“Your name is Shuko then?”

The parrot pecked at his tunic in acknowledgement.

“I suppose we will call you Shuko then.”

He walked up towards the village. “I hope you will tell me all about how you met my father.”

He sat close to the river. The wounds were still hurting him, making it hard to even breathe properly. He picked up a pebble and tossed it across the water, making it skip across the surface. Shuko had flown away to get food, and he wasn’t back yet. The funeral was over and Lakshmi had come looking for him.

She sat next to him and didn’t say anything for the next half an hour. Kalki didn’t mean to speak as well. They just remained silent and he liked that. Any other friend would have felt the need to speak up, say some comforting words and leave. Lakshmi wasn’t like that. She understood Kalki more than anyone. And she understood that words don’t cure grief. Kalki felt his fingers interlocking with hers as they watched the sky’s bright blue meeting slowly with the orange tinged dusk, and the clouds looking like the handspun pieces of gauzy cloth.

“He did a mistake. And he wanted help. So I did,” Kalki began.

“What do you mean?”

“Bala,” he said, turning to her, “you asked me about him, right? What does he owe me? What does a guardsman of a tavern owe me? He allowed a young child inside. ‘Allowed’ is a strong word since the girl sneaked in without his permission. He couldn’t stop her but it was his fault, for he didn’t return for her, to pull her out, to make her understand that it was a bad place for kids like her. She was just thirteen.”

Lakshmi’s face was curious as Kalki kept watching her.

“She didn’t understand that men don’t see a kid as a kid when they are drunk. They see a woman, and they don’t have limits, no rules that bind them.”

“I don’t know. We asked around.”

“What happened exactly?” Her hand tightened around his palm.

Kalki began to narrate. It was a year back. The tavern wasn’t just a place where you could get drinks. It had a lot of rooms and it had a lot of women offering sexual favours. Bala had forgotten about the girl who went inside. In the morning, he went through the rooms, with a bucket of water and a mop, coming to the last room that was locked. He called Arindam, the owner of the tavern, and he was surprised as well. No one dared to lock rooms there.

Bala smashed the door open, breaking it at the hinges to find the room was stinking of spilt wine and coitus. And in the corner, there was a girl. She had been hiding; her clothes were ripped, just like the blankets around her.

“Sometimes there are no resolutions to conundrums,” Kalki continued, “We never got to know who the person was. Bala looked for me and asked for a favour, for me to help her find a home.”

“Yes, in another village,” he paused. “He cried on my shoulder and it was awkward. He cried until he could no longer cry and he blamed himself for what had happened to the girl.”

Lakshmi looked down.

“I didn’t want to tell you, for you would judge Bala. He was forever in debt to me, even though I did it not for him but for her. He didn’t care. He promised he would protect me and my little brother as long as he would be alive.”

Lakshmi nodded. “I don’t judge him. You are wrong about that, you know.”

“Perhaps I am. We forgot who we were and we forget how we used to be around each other. It has been two years since we last saw each other.”

Her fingers ran through his hair. “I missed you a lot. I have changed, yes, but don’t forget me. I’m still the same, just with different ideas now.”

Kalki smiled. The slight touch of her fingers gave him butterflies in his stomach. It was an eerie feeling for him. It made him feel happy, the touch of her. It made him feel glad and he wanted to just hold onto it.

“I also am a bearer of news.”

“What happened?”

She took a deep breath, as if it was a way to apologize. “I know we have seen a lot, but the last time I went to meet my aunt, she asked me to return to the city, said things have settled down in Indragarh and it would be all right.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It wasn’t the right place or time.”

“For how long?” Kalki’s voice quivered.

Not again. He would be left alone.

“I don’t know for how long, but it’ll be for a while, sure.”

“I don’t want you to go to the city again.”

“Will you then?”

She blinked, perhaps contemplating. “You know I will. I still will. I want to be like my aunt, authoritative and strong and educated. Shambala would make me anything but that.”

Kalki wasn’t disappointed. Rather, he expected that answer. “Well, that’s something that’s never changed about you.” He paused. “I’ll come to visit you this time, I promise.”

“You better. My aunt promised me that she’ll get me a job at a library. Imagine how cool would that be?”

Kalki nodded. “Books are interesting. Might I bring Arjan then as well?”

They both smiled each other. Kalki saw a glint of happiness in her eyes. Lakshmi made things better for him. Even little things, like the way she would keep complaining, or the way her brows would go up while nervous, it all made him see her in a different light. She was adorable.

She came forward and he did it too. His heart was pumping hard, his lips had gone cold, and his eyes were beginning to close, when…

Shuko appeared, croaking loudly.

Kalki and Lakshmi pulled back instantly, realizing what they were about to do, especially on the day of the mourning. Lakshmi had gone red while Kalki felt his skin grow warm. His heart was beating hard and he had never felt so unsettled in his life.

“Shuko.” The parrot sat idly on his shoulder. “Made a new friend today.”

“Interesting.” She laughed.

And they both saw the sun dip, their fingers still locked with each other.

Next morning, Kalki trudged on the path to the tavern with Bala. Arjan was left behind to take care of his mother.

“Are you sure, brother, it was him?” Bala asked.

“Oh I’m sure.”

“He’s no one but a…”

“No, he’s someone, I bet you on that.”

They reached the hill where the drunkard, Kripa, had been leaning against the rock, sleeping with a bunch of mugs around him. Kalki had even managed to bump into him once. He recalled how he had been walking from Lakshmi’s home, the day she had returned from Indragarh and had met him.

“I followed him yesterday to this place. He was at your father’s funeral, brother. Away from the crowd. Such a coward. On the day of the fighting, he had hidden himself.”

“My father wanted me to talk to him, for he knows something,” Kalki said to Bala. “I am sure my father didn’t randomly pick him. He knew his name even. He said Kripa something.”