December 1950
India
The sky was painted in hues of orange and red, bringing an illusion of warmth to the cold day. The handful of passengers huddled closer together, their frayed clothing a testament to their humble origins. They kept looking fretfully at the huge wall clock. The only train for the day was already an hour late. It was possible that it may not even arrive.
An air of desolation hung over the dilapidated station. Its dull grey walls were beaten by age and smeared with violence, open to the vast sky. Besides a ticketing box and stray benches, there was nothing more to speak of about Ramgarh’s only station. Ramgarh, on the other hand, was a village bustling with untold stories.
Nestled within lush green forests and mountains, it had once been beautifully quaint with brick hutments and dirt streets. Its inhabitants had once slept peacefully, exhausted after an honest day’s work in the fields or labour in tiny shops. They had cohabited for centuries; the divide of caste and religion having reached its borders only in recent times. Ramgarh’s namesakes had sprung up in all corners of India, but this village was too insignificant to mark on most maps. It didn’t exist for public knowledge, devoid of politics and forgotten by history. A reason that when it burned, no one heard, and no one cared.
A woman huddled nearby, her kohl lined eyes peeking out from a heavy maroon shawl. She glanced longingly towards the tracks, waiting for a glimpse of the engine. She shivered, rubbing her hands together for warmth. It would be nightfall soon, and the cold was likely to be merciless. Her simple black cotton kurti pajama were no protection against the elements.
“Did you hear,” she heard a man whisper. “They found Shyamlal’s hiding spot this morning and slaughtered everyone as a warning.” She looked back to see a bedraggled family of four – parents and two small children. It was the potter’s family. Abdul, the potter, saw her looking and pursed his lips in suspicion. She looked away, hugging herself and exhaling a foggy breath. Shyamlal had owned the kirana shop she had visited since she was a child. He had snuck her many an orange candy, his dark eyes twinkling merrily. Knowing that he was dead along with his family did little to stir her numb heart.
She stared with hardened eyes at the smoke billowing in the distance. The faint whistle of the approaching train came to her ears. She shifted as people around her rose to their feet in anticipation. Like her, they all wanted to leave the charred remains of their once beloved village behind. They knew that the riots would eventually wipe away their existence if they stayed.
She clutched her shawl closer to her face as the train slowed to a stop. “What is your name, girl?” the plump ticket collector droned as she climbed up the compartment.
“Riddhima,” she spoke softly. “Riddhima Pandit.”
He wrote down her name and pocketed the money, looking towards the next person. She walked away quickly, her hands clammy with fear. If the rioters caught them here… If they burned this train like they had destroyed their village…She slipped into an empty cabin, trying to shake her forbidding thoughts. There were just two wooden planks painted in blue, placed across from one another. She sat on the left, shivering at the cold wind coming in through the broken windows. Drawing up her knees to her chest, she rested her chin on her knees. The platform was now empty, save for the evening fog descending on the surroundings. It gave the old station a sinister appearance, as if it knew that such escapes were soon going to be a rarity.
People trundled past in the corridor, their baggage slamming against the cabin walls. Thankfully, they were all families seeking empty cabins for privacy from their demons. No one disturbed her place of rest. The train gave a jerk, beginning to move after its designated five minutes stop. She watched as the lopsided board where “Ramgarh” was scribbled passed by her hostile eyes. She was never coming back here again.
Pristine mountains rose up as the train chugged along, the hues of the setting sun giving the vision a dreamy feel. This place had once been the centre of all happiness; it had given her life, a loving family to grow up with, the joys of simple living…In a moment, it had snatched everything from her.
Aisha. That would be her new name, she thought resolutely. It signified life and she needed to feel alive again. Aisha had also been the name of her best friend, slaughtered along with so many others. She had watched as the rioters torched her village, burning her ancestral home to the ground. What did they fight for? What fueled their hatred and rage? She didn’t even know how the violence erupting in other pockets of India had reached her sleepy little village. She only knew that there wasn’t going to be an end.
When she closed her eyes, she saw her mother’s face. Her wrinkled smile and sun weathered skin, strays of grey escaping her bun as she prepared her favorite aloo paratha on the chulha. Her mother had dragged her and her brother to the fields, urging them to escape to the forests while her father held the rioters off with meagre weapons. Installing her in a safe hollow in the forest, her brother had bid her goodbye, wanting to go and fight for his home. Her many pleadings to stay fell on deaf ears as he walked away. She never met them again. Scavenging on wild produce for days in the forest, she had held a flame of hope every evening, watching the horizon for her loved ones. When the news reached her of their demise, she hadn’t broken down. Not even once. She had known with quiet certainty that there would be no one to wipe her tears again.
A stony stillness existed within her now, where her heart should have been. The woman she had been had died with all that she held dear.
She heard muted voices in the corridor as people settled in for the night. Children ran down the corridor, oblivious to the pall of gloom around them. These people had lost their loved ones too. They all wore a haunted look like hers. But she couldn’t shake off the thought that they were still more blessed than she. They had each other when the night grew colder. She had no one in the world.
Gingerly lying down on the hard plank, she tried to cover herself with the shawl as best as she could. An uneasy feeling churned in her empty stomach. She was restless for this ordeal to be over. It could also be hunger, she mused. In her eagerness to leave, she had forgotten to eat throughout the day. Their destination was just a night’s journey away. She hoped she could bear it till then. Her eyes closed in exhaustion.
When they opened, it was utter darkness everywhere. She frowned, feeling a weird stillness in the air. Light snores travelled down the corridor, making her feel oddly comforted. She inclined her head to look outside the window, blinking in confusion. The train was at a standstill. A heavy fog obscured her vision, making it hard to discern where they were. Perhaps, that’s why the train had stopped. Poor visibility was a nuisance this time of the year. She shivered violently, her feet chilled to the bone. Warming her palms with her breath, she gently massaged her foot, trying to bring some feeling back in her toes.
A sharp knock near the window startled her. She bit back a yelp, scrambling back. She squinted her eyes, barely making out a figure clad in black, the silhouette obscured in the fog.
“Madam, please don’t fear,” a man’s gravelly voice spoke urgently. “I am the driver’s assistant. Can you please pass me that emergency medicine box under your bed? One of my men has taken ill and we can’t find his medicine in our box.”
“Y-yes, of course,” she spoke shakily, grabbing blindly under the plank. Surprisingly, she immediately felt the handle under her fingers. It was heavy, she realized, pulling it hard.
“I will wait at the door. Will you bring it, madam?”
Nodding, she got up, gripping the handle of a big black box with both hands. Trying not to bang into other cabin walls and wake its sleeping occupants, she waddled out. The man thanked her profusely, hoisting it on his shoulders and hurrying towards the engine.
She stood at the door, stunned. The fog had lightened considerably in her short walk from cabin to door. She could even see the stars twinkling in the dark sky. The moon was high, casting a pale glow over mustard fields. Just ahead, loomed a forest with tall trees, their dense foliage casting long shadows in the moonlight. A stream bubbled nearby, reflecting the sky in its clear waters. It was a night for lovers, she reflected, watching as some people stepped off the train for a walk. A gentle wind blew the shawl away from her face.
As she gazed at the sky, a shooting star twinkled by and disappeared. If her father was alive, he would have urged her to make a wish. Closing her eyes in reminiscence, she wished for their happiness wherever her family was. “You should have been here, Mamma, Papa, Bhai…” she whispered brokenly. “I wish there was someone for me in this world, someone who loved me. Anyone. I wish I wasn’t so cold…”
With aching loneliness and grief, she stepped off the train. Walking towards the stream, she kept looking back at the train in nervousness. She was reasonably sure that if it began moving, she could run to catch it. Moving closer to the stream, she bent to touch the waters, fully expecting it to be biting cold. Surprisingly, it was warm, the temperature just right against her numb fingers. She hissed in pleasure, sitting down and dipping her frozen toes eagerly.
She sat there for a while, splashing her feet like a child. The water made her feel cleansed, bringing a strange peace to her battered heart. She felt lighter than she had in ages. Her shawl slipped past her shoulders, her long dark hair billowing softly in the wind.
A sharp whistle brought her out of her reverie. The train was beginning to move! She saw people quickly climbing in again. Heart thumping, she made to get up, then gazed back in horror at the water. Her feet seemed stuck, refusing to come out of the water. Feeling like she was in a bad dream, she tugged on her foot with both her hands. Nothing seemed to be holding them back, but she couldn’t seem to get them out of the stream.
“No, no!” she shouted, gazing helplessly as the train began chugging away slowly. “Help! Someone help me!” There was no one around, the other passengers having gone back into the train. She laid herself flat on the grass, trying to pull herself away from the waters. Her left foot became free, giving her hope that she could still catch the passing train. It whistled again. “Let me go, damn you! I can’t miss that train! Let me go, you stupid bloody-” She cursed ineffectually, watching the last of the bogies disappear. Angry tears formed in her eyes, her nails digging into the ground. “No…no, please.” Her breath caught on a sob, fear running through her veins. She pulled hard at the other foot, screaming at the pain. The waters let go, making her gasp in terror.
She hobbled to her feet, backing away from the innocent looking stream. The train was turning a corner in the far distance. She ran as fast as she could, stumbling across the mustard fields and into the forested area. I can’t lose the train. This can’t be happening. Branches pulled at her clothes as she ran wildly, gasping for breath.
The last of the coaches rounded the corner, vanishing from her sight. “No!” she howled, clutching a stitch at her side. Silence was her answer, broken only by the sound of crickets. A fog began enveloping the vicinity again, making it harder to see. She stumbled blindly in the dark, getting her palms scratched on thorny bushes and barks of trees. As the fog thickened, it became darker; the moonlight no longer able to penetrate the forest cover.
She leaned against a thick tree, a helplessness overtaking her. Her strength was nearly drained. Hunger and thirst warred for supremacy in her body. Even if she had been inclined to brave the waters again to quench her thirst, she no longer knew where the stream had been. Her vision blurred, her legs shaking to support her. She blinked to keep her eyes open, seeing a blurry shape moving towards her.
“Are you lost, lady?” She gasped in fright. A man was standing in front of her, his face shrouded in darkness. He was tall, his broad shoulders visible even in the dim light. “Don’t be scared. I won’t hurt you.” His velvet baritone cut through her panicked mind.
“Oh, Sir…I-I,” she breathed hard, winded from her mad run. He gestured for her to breathe deeper. She followed his lead, taking the frosty air deeper into her protesting lungs.
“Save your words for some time. The forest is not safe at night,” he told her quietly. “There is a bridge not far from here. It leads to a hamlet where we could find some help for you. Would you walk with me?”
She nodded, taking his proffered arm gingerly. Her palms brushed over the cool satin of his cloak. Wasn’t he cold? She shivered, partly from the chill and partly from dismay over her situation. He could be anyone, looking for vulnerable prey in this godforsaken place. She felt like a fool for following him like a meek lamb. But what were her options? What could be worse than being stuck here all alone? He placed a hand over hers familiarly, his warmth seeping into her bones. She peeked up at him, unable to see his face in the dark. He guided her gently across fallen logs and vines, chivalrously allowing her to hold onto him tighter. Leaves crunched under her feet as she clutched him, grateful for the support in her weakened state.
“Are you hungry?” He asked her, breaking the companionable silence.
“And thirsty,” she admitted ruefully. Her lips were parched, a scratchy dryness clinging to her throat.
He raised his hand, brushing against the branches above their head. “Here, this should make you more comfortable.” She stared as he offered her an apple, freshly picked from the tree.
“I have lived here my whole life, lady.” He passed her the fruit, his fingers briefly touching hers. “I have pottered around this area forever. My grandfather planted a lot of these trees in his time.”
“That’s…” she fumbled for the right word, biting hungrily into the juicy apple. “…fascinating. What’s your name?”
“The lady must speak first,” a touch of humour laced his deep voice.
“I’m Ridd-Aisha,” she corrected quickly, remembering her vow. “My name is Aisha.”
“Well, Aisha,” he mused softly, stopping suddenly. “You can call me Ibaadat. Yes, there is a certain poetry to that name.” Before she could dwell over his words, he parted the bramble with ease, gesturing for her to move ahead. A muted warm light was coming from the clearing, enticing her. She stepped past the foliage, staring in delight at the bridge ahead. Made of sturdy wood, it was lit up softly with lanterns along the way. A river gushed beneath, its thunderous flow soothing and alarming her at once. She had never learnt to swim.
“Are you scared?” he whispered near her ear. She turned to look at him sheepishly, then jerked back in shock. The lanterns cast an eerie glow on his features. His eyes were dark and piercing, ringed with sooty eyelashes. He had an aristocratic nose, and a strong determined jaw peppered lightly with stubble. A wicked scar ran diagonally across his face, ending at sensuous lips that were curved up in a sinister grin. He looked like the devil himself in the diffused light.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, raking a hand through her hair. “I know I’m staring. You just… frightened me for a moment.”
“Yes,” he smiled, a gleam of pleasure in his eyes. “I do like to have that effect sometimes.”
“What-what a strange thing to say.” She could not keep the unease out of her voice. She backed away a step, poised to run at the slightest provocation.
He stepped closer, the length of his black robe brushing the ground. “Come with me, Aisha. Let me tell you a story.”
Without waiting for her, he walked over the bridge, his gait leisurely. She followed, watching his back in trepidation. There was something strange about him. Something that she couldn’t quite place. “Where are you leading me?”
“Astray,” came his laughter tinged voice. “Finish your fruit. There’s a good girl.”
She bit into the remains of the apple obediently, keeping a wary eye on him. He stopped a little ahead, leaning his arms on the wooden bars of the bridge. His thoughtful gaze peered into the churning waters below. “When I was a lad, I ran off with a girl through this very forest. We were young, madly in love. Our clans were from different villages, set apart by this very river. It was forbidden for us to meet, let alone marry. Intermixing of blood, they said. The ignorant fools.” He scoffed, glancing at her curious face. “I often swum to her side when the flow was softer. No bridge had existed at that time.”
Why was he telling her this? She tossed the apple’s core into the river, feeling warm and satiated. “As we hid from her people, we spoke our wedding vows. It didn’t take a litany of prayers and an entourage to marry at that time. All it took was a simple intention. And a kiss. We stopped right there,” he pointed at the clearing behind. “And kissed, sealing our hasty union. Then we jumped into this river.”
Her lips parted in shock. “You tried to kill yourselves?”
“Oh, hell no!” he laughed, his enigmatic eyes crinkling at her. “We merely wanted to escape to our happily ever after, thumbing our noses at the bast*rds in hot pursuit of us.”
Feeling a little reassured, she stepped closer towards him. “So, you have a wife in this hamlet we are headed to? Is that why you are telling me this story?”
“No, Riddhima,” he told her, turning to face her. An unholy light glimmered in his eyes. “I intend for you to be my wife.” Goose bumps rose on her skin, the back of her neck prickling in alarm. “My wife was torn from me by the currents that day. Her hand slipped from mine, and she disappeared under the waters. I had barely managed to drag myself out before my people butchered me and threw my remains back into the river.”
Her eyes became huge with horror. He was insane! That was the only explanation that made sense to her. She began backing away, watching as he straightened, a muscle ticking in his jaw. Before she could run, he had crossed the distance in quick long strides. She screamed as he gripped her shoulders, caging her against the barrier of his arms. Heat radiated off his skin, warming her cold skin.
“Hush, darling,” his deceptively silky voice cajoled. Intense dark eyes bore into hers. “Don’t waste your precious breath. No one can hear your screams. And you don’t need this.”
“What are you doing?!” she demanded shrilly, as he pulled her shawl down and threw it away carelessly. He caught her hands as she tried to claw him, her panicked pulse racing beneath his palms.
“Calm down, little cat,” he purred lazily, watching her struggle with amusement. “You don’t need these ugly shawls. I promise you will never be cold again.”
“Ibaadat, let me go!” she told him, glaring at him despite her fright. “People will be searching for me. You cannot get away with this!”
A smile quirked the corners of his lips. He clasped her hands behind her back, bringing her flush against his hardness. “No one searches for you, Riddhima. You must not lie to me. My name…was Vansh. I am the spirit of this land. No one passes by without my assent. I am the answer to your ibaadat, my doe eyed Aisha.”
“How do you know my name?” she whispered, a mad instinct to survive raging in her. “Stop speaking in riddles, damn you!” His scorching gaze travelled down her face, coming to rest on her soft lips. She turned her head away as he leaned closer.
Vansh rested his cheek rested against hers, the stubble on his jaw brushing erotically against her skin. She inhaled sharply, unwelcome desire igniting in her veins. “You made a wish,” he murmured against her ear. She shivered, feeling his breath tickle the sensitive flesh. “I am the answer to your prayer. Just like you are the answer to mine.” As he withdrew, leaving her free, she stood there stunned. “When I saw you, standing on that train, so small and beautiful…I knew you were destined to be mine.”
“H-how do you know all this?” she spluttered, her mind reeling from his words. Her hands clutched the barrier behind for support. “You heard my w-wish. That stream, it won’t let me go. I missed my train… I don’t…don’t understand.”
“I am a spirit, Riddhima,” he repeated. The scar on his face began to glow red in front of her eyes. “It’s time I showed you what that means.” He sauntered towards her with a lazy smirk. Horror struck, she turned to run. His hand slid around her waist easily, pulling her back against his hard chest. An enticing scent tickled her nostrils, like that of the earth being drenched in the rain. “You are going to love this, my innocent darling.”
And then they were tumbling sideways off the bridge. She screamed, watching the safety bars disappear past her flailing body. They fell through the air into the waiting arms of the river, Vansh’s laughter ringing in her ears.
***