The door was painted bright yellow. If one looked closer, they could see tiny leaves painted at the sides, faded over time. A brass bell hung at the entrance, a zen like alternative to the electric ones in modern houses these days. Riddhima raised a hand towards it, hesitating for a moment. Vansh would be mad if he knew she was here without him.
The summons had come to her early in the morning. She had barely dozed for a couple of hours before a loud knocking woke her up. A surly message given by a young teenage boy was received with equal enthusiasm by a sleep deprived Riddhima. Sutapa wanted to see her. Immediately. The sheer nerve the old lady had after last night! She seethed, splashing cold water on her face. Brushing her teeth, she had debated about calling Vansh to accompany her. Every time she came close to doing it, his tortured eyes flashed across her mind. He needed time. To come to terms. To heal from the shock. To sleep over it. Or whatever the hell ghosts did in tough times. Perhaps, it was better if she tackled this herself.
So here she was now, staring at the yellow door. Biting her lower lip in indecision. On the cusp of changing her mind and snuggling back under warm covers at the cottage. Her hand nudged against the cold metal, having a mind of its own. The bell rang gently, drawing her out of her reverie. Too late to back out now.
The door opened and a heavy smell of incense wrapped around her. Sutapa’s weather beaten face peered out, her milky eyes sending shivers down her spine. They looked just as spooky in the gentle morning as they had at night. She beckoned her in with a gnarly finger, limping towards a plump purple seat cushion. The room was painted a pale blue, peeling paintings of nature on the walls. A simple mat lay on the floor, a low table with a typical crystal ball placed in the centre of it. Riddhima looked around curiously, noting magical accoutrements placed on the dresser. The door shut behind her with a loud clap, making her jump.
“Come, child,” she spoke hoarsely, patting the floor. “Sit down where I can see you. The eyesight isn’t what it was in my heydays, eh.”
She sat in front of her slowly, feeling uneasy in the cloying atmosphere. “Listen,” she began, taking in a deep breath. “I just want to make this clear. If I’m not back within the hour, my friend is going to call the cops. We should do that anyway, considering the things you all did to me last night.” Her voice almost wavered, but she was proud of herself for getting the rehearsed piece out confidently.
Cracks appeared at the corner of Sutapa’s cheeks and eyes, a peculiar expression on her face. Blinking in confusion, she finally registered that the old woman was smiling. Even her smile was creepy. “Very well then. Your warning is duly noted. Our conversation will finish well in time, I should think. Would you like some tea? I made it fresh this morning.”
Riddhima shook her head distrustfully, keeping a wary eye on her. She won’t accept even her favourite Lays chips from her, let alone tea. Sutapa got up, hobbling towards the tea pot. “Why do you have so many weird things in this room?” she enquired, attempting friendly conversation in the brief silence. “And what’s with this crystal ball? Aren’t you a real shaman?”
The sound of liquid pouring, steam rising from the cup. “We do what we must to survive. I do mystic readings, fortune telling and the like. It’s good business in tourist season.”
The old woman sat back down with a sigh, adjusting her plush bottom on the cushion. The tea was placed on the table, a soothing aroma of lavender and peppermint in the air. “I wanted to apologize. We had no right to hurt you like that. Daman is a difficult man. He has lost a lot in his life, and you reminded him about the biggest cause of that suffering. But nevertheless, that does not justify our actions towards you. We are very sorry, child.”
Riddhima gaped at her, wondering if this was some kind of a trick. “To atone for our mistakes,” Sutapa continued, her penetrating eyes fixed on hers. “We want to offer what you came to us for last night. Knowledge about the witch’s descendent.” Her heart momentarily leapt at her words. “But you must tell me this – why were you seeking the descendent of the traitor Ahilya Devi?”
Her eyes narrowed. There was always a catch. Vansh’s warning about not trusting any of the four echoed through her thoughts. “It is as you said. For knowledge.” Noncommittal words. Firmly spoken. Check.
“I see. You seek knowledge and yet, that’s what you withhold.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” She folded her hands across the table, her expression deadpan. “But I believe those who want to atone for their mistakes don’t expect return gifts.”
The old lady gave a short cackle, a queer sound in the quiet room. “I was merely curious. You are the first to speak that name in ages.” Sutapa took a sip from her tea, her expression turning serene. “Very well, child. Before I answer your question about her descendent, I have a story for you. Forgive me if there are gaps in the tale. My memory isn’t as sharp these days.”
As far as she was concerned, Sutapa was wily like a fox. She watched the shaman’s shaking hands as they raised the ivory cup to her lips. “A long time ago, there lived a priestess called Ahilya Devi. She was beautiful beyond measure. It is said that when Ahilya took her first breath in this world, angels wept looking at her beauty. An exaggerated saying, I am certain. It must have just rained heavily that night. Humans and their sayings.” Sutapa snorted in derision. “But there was something undeniably special about her and her family. Each generation only had one child born to them. Just one. They only birthed boys traditionally, all becoming shaman leaders of their time. She was the first girl in her family in living memory, the first priestess. Her lineage was of pure magic and utter devotion to the Creator.”
“Is there a difference between a shaman and a priestess?” Riddhima interrupted, unable to curb the curiousity. Vansh was always so tight lipped about this world.
“Some would say we are all the same, like God surely intended. But the gulf comes from the source of our powers. A shaman draws energy from their surroundings, manipulating the elements into tangible magic. A priestess, on the other hand, is often called a God’s child. They draw from the Great Void –dark matter that is nothing and everything at once. It is why their blood can’t be touched by a spirit.” Seeing her flabbergasted expression, Sutapa stated quietly. “For your understanding, they are said to create magic from anything, their abilities unencumbered. They are powerful beings.”
“If she was so powerful, how did fire consume her?”
“I wasn’t finished, child.” she reprimanded sternly. Riddhima shifted impatiently in her seat, feeling chastened. “We don’t know why but as per history, it is always the females who are born with the ability to conjure such magic. Coming back to our story, it was a matter of great pride for Ahilya’s family when she was born. With just one child born every generation, their devout family line was just one misfortune away from nonexistence. Perhaps, they also hoped for a new dawn in their lives with such a special female child.”
“A hope you dashed when your ancestors burned her at the stake,” her waspish tongue couldn’t help stating.
“Do you want to hear this story or not?” sighed Sutapa in exasperation.
“Yes.”
“Good. Then we shall continue. In order to understand the rest of it, you must know something about Ahilya. She was…not normal. She was like the air, one moment here, another moment not. Societal obligations bored her, worldly customs made her a rebel. No one could make her do anything against her will. She was her own mistress from a young age. As you can imagine, such an attitude begets a difficult childhood. Other children gave her a wide berth, adults gossiped about the wild child. In this time, it was Janani who helped her. We don’t know what drew them together, but Janani understood Ahilya more than anyone ever had. Over the years, their friendship deepened till they were more like sisters. They could do anything for each other.” Sutapa touched Riddhima’s hand suddenly, alarming her. “What I tell you now must not leave these doors. Ever. You will not breathe a word of it to anyone else. Promise me.”
She snatched her hand back, nodding quickly. “Yes, yes, I promise. But keep the hands off, okay?”
Sutapa sighed, her milky eyes far away. “Some years later, the friends were living their separate lives. Janani was married, tending to her household duties. Ahilya was thriving in her magical explorations; rumours said that she was now a sorceress. A practitioner of dark magic. The claims weren’t proven true until much later, but the shamans began avoiding her out of fear. Janani’s husband forbade her from meeting her friend, a dictate that they often broke in secret. One day, in her husband’s absence, Janani visited her friend with a desperate plea. They had been trying to conceive for a long while, but her womb did not quicken. Ahilya only had to touch her to know that it never would. Janani was barren. Despite her pleadings, she refused to use magic to help her friend; it was against God’s will, she said. Janani went away, broken and hopeless. But she did not go home. Instead she walked towards the river, wanting to drown away her sorrows. Ahilya saved her that night. She could no longer bear her friend’s pain. So, then she performed the greatest sacrifice a woman can ever make.” Sutapa was quiet for a while, staring contemplatively at her now cold tea. Riddhima forgot to breathe. “Ahilya still refused to heal her with magic. But she promised an incomparable gift to Janani. Her first-born child.”
She gasped, her eyes wide like saucers. “As you can now guess, Daman is Ahilya’s son. The only child as per her family tradition. But, alas, he will not help you. The damage to his psyche runs too deep. Nor do I think you want him to.” Just the thought of Daman’s cold grey eyes, that she now realized were much like Ahilya’s, made her mouth go dry. “But there is someone else who might. You see, Daman watched both his mothers die that day – Ahilya at the stake, and Janani by heart break. He was raised by a vicious grandmother and a drunken father, who gave him no love knowing his parentage. So, when his own wife gave birth to a daughter, he chose to raise the child far away from all things magic. To protect her. To keep her away from the darkness that consumed his mothers.”
Hope burst to bloom in her heart at her words. Her first thought was of Vansh. She couldn’t wait to tell him! This was not a dead end after all. “His daughter Layla is the present-day priestess, a true descendent of Ahilya’s. The second girl child to ever exist in her family, the first being Ahilya herself. She is the person you seek. And our coven’s only hope.”
A frantic ringing sounded from outside, drawing their eyes to the door. Riddhima felt an intangible change in the air, like a cold finger at the nape of her neck. The old lady tore a sheet off a nearby book, scribbling swiftly. Thrusting the paper at her, she spoke urgently. “Her home is just a day’s drive from here. Take this address and leave, child. Now.” Her tone was suddenly sharp. She coughed, placing a hand on her chest. Raising unfocused eyes to hers, she gestured wildly for her to leave. Riddhima got up, scrambling towards the door. It seemed stuck. She tugged hard at the handle, feeling it give way. Bright sunshine streamed in, a welcome respite from the dark stuffy interiors. Before she could step out, a sudden force pulled her in. She screamed in fright, looking back.
Sutapa grabbed her hand, tugging her closer to her perfumed self. “You have been touched by a spirit. Yes…I can feel him again. A blood bond. A strong connection.” She cackled suddenly, raising the hairs on Riddhima’s skin. She tried to pull her hand away, but the woman was surprisingly strong. “He cannot help you here, can he, my child? No other spirits may enter this room uninvited. So now…you will state your true purpose…or die.”
The words made her mad, rage making her clench her fists. She didn’t know where her bravado came from, but hell if she was going to be threatened twice in one vacation. “I seek a man called Kabir…or rather, his despicable spirit,” she bit out, watching her carefully. “He murdered my friend and his family, and for that he must pay. Even after death.”
Sutapa cackled again, throwing her head back. Her mocking laughter reverberated around the tiny room. “I see you have a warped sense of humour,” said Riddhima, disgust lacing her voice. “Perhaps, you are too blind to know right from wrong anymore.”
“Oh, it’s not me who is blind…Riddheema,” Sutapa hissed violently, staring down at her. Her laughter quietened, unblinking eyes holding hers captive. The cold finger of fear touched her nape again. Goose bumps formed on her skin. She had never told the shamans her name.
The old woman’s nails dug into her wrist painfully. “I am Kabir Raisinghania. I am Sutapa, I am Daman. I am…even you. Come now, don’t look so scared. Weren’t you seeking me?” A grotesque smile lit up her face, a manic gleam in her milky eyes. “Tell my dear half-brother when you see him next. He shouldn’t leave his precious toys unattended if he doesn’t want them damaged.”
A sudden blast of energy knocked her to the hard floor. She landed on her back, all the breath whooshing out of her. Sutapa slumped unconscious, her mouth lolling open. Vansh. Riddhima tried to grab the star sapphire pendant at her neck, but found her body immobilized. A violent coldness took root within her, painful pounding starting in her head. Her body felt too suffocating, her skin heating up despite the coldness. As she screamed in agony, her own voice hissed hauntingly into the chill air. “Tell my brother, Riddheema…I am coming for him. And this time, I come for everything.”
***
Open sky, flock of birds. Flying towards the sun.
She blinked, her eyelids struggling to stay open.
Her eyes closed again. Pitch darkness.
The sound of running water, rustling of leaves.
She pried open her eyes. The sun was high now, its rays piercing her skin. She turned to the side to escape the glare. The fresh smell of grass hit her nostrils.
Her eyes closed. Pitch darkness.
A child’s laughter. Pitter patter of feet.
“Maa, look! Come here!” The footsteps came closer. A shadow over her face, eclipsing the sun. “Hello. Are you dead? Lady?”
Soft hands poked her cheeks. She opened her eyes, staring up at a boy’s cherubic face. He looked shocked to see her awake, stumbling back in fear. She was seized by a motherly impulse to comfort him. “Who are you?” His pink lips trembled, eyes darting around. Probably looking for his mother. “I’m Riddhima, baby. Don’t be scared. I won’t hurt you.”
“Ritthima?” he lisped.
“Riddhima.”
“Ritthima?!”
“Yes.”
She sat up slowly, her head feeling heavier than usual. “Are you sick, lady?” his voice quivered. “My Maa can heal everything. Don’t worry. She will heal you too.”
“Where is your mother, sweet boy?” He pointed straight ahead, drawing her eyes to her surroundings. She was sitting in an open field in what looked to be the countryside. Livestock were grazing in the distance, supervised by workers. The boy pointed towards a woman in the distance. Dressed in a navy-blue cotton sari, she was instructing a group of workers.
“Maa!” The boy’s shout drew her attention. A frown crossed her features. She picked up her sari folds and trudged towards them.
“Vansh!” she called. “How many times do I have to tell you not to play near the forest?!”
Riddhima stared openmouthed. Slowly, she turned to look at the boy beside her. He gave her a familiar dimpled smile. “Don’t worry, Ritthima. Maa will take care of you.”
“Vansh?” she mouthed his name silently, unable to believe her ears.
The woman came closer, her eyes on him. “You never listen to me, beta! Aapko chot lag sakti hai na. Kitni baar samjhaun aapko?” She took hold of his hand, not even glancing her way.
“Maa, wait!” Vansh dug in his heels, his little face looking up innocently. He nodded towards her, still sitting flummoxed on the ground. “What about Ritthima? She is hurt. We must help her.”
“Who?” The woman looked around briefly, then glared down at her son. “Enough with your imaginary games, beta. Humein ghar bhi jaana hai. Dadi has made the birthday boy’s favourite cake. Chalo jaldi se.”
“No!” Vansh pulled her hand, looking back at Riddhima. “I promised Ritthima we will help her. You said a Raisingheenia always keeps his promise.”
Her mother chuckled, picking the stubborn boy up. “It’s Raisinghania, silly boy. And you are right. We will help your Ritthima. She will come home with us, okay? Dadi ko bolenge uske liye bhi cake save kare. Mere acche bete hona aap? Let’s go now.”
As Vansh’s mother walked away, the boy watched her over her shoulder. His little hand waved at her slowly. “You heard Maa,” his voice called. “Come home, okay? I will wait for you.”
Unbidden, tears came to her eyes at his sweetness. She blinked them away furiously. “Yes, I will. Happy birthday, Vansh!” she called out, her voice cracking. He waved at her till the carriage drove away, leaving her alone.
She felt cold lips press against her forehead. “Come back to me, Riddhima. Please, God, please…” Her eyes opened briefly, staring at the ceiling fan. A buzz of conversation surrounded her. Familiar arms held her close. The scent of sandalwood and smoke.
Her vision blurred. Darkness called.
She was looking at little Vansh again. He was traipsing alongside his mother and an elderly lady, singing a merry tune. The marketplace seemed familiar, lined with hawkers selling fresh produce and trinkets. They were at the shaman’s village, she realized, looking around wildly. It looked so different without the magical “voodoo stuff” as Rudra would have called it.
Another boy stepped in front of her suddenly, running towards Vansh. She braced for an impact, instinctively holding out her hands to stop him from falling. But her hands slid through his body, her fingers catching thin air. She stopped in her tracks abruptly, watching him reach Vansh. A passer-by walked through her from behind, making her gasp. She twirled around, raking her hands through her hair in frustration. People passed by, none giving her a single glance.
“My father said you are my little brother,” she heard him say. “I am Kabir.”
She turned back, staring at the boys shaking hands solemnly in the distance. What the actual fck was happening? It was like she was the ghost, stuck in someone’s memory.
“Vansh, kya kar rahe ho?” Vansh’s mother approached the pair. A little ahead, she saw the elderly lady, muttering something under her breath. Perhaps, she was his grandmother. His mother caught hold of his little hand again, ignoring the other boy beside him.
“Maa,” Kabir whispered longingly, halting her in her tracks.
She looked back at him, her gaze turning thunderous. “What did you say?”
“Ma-maa,” he stuttered in fear. “Mujhe bhi aapke saath aana hai. Mujhe bhi apne saath le chalo. Papa se darr lagta hai.”
“What nonsense is this? Main koi tumhari maa vaa nahi hoon. Tumhari Maa marr chuki hai. Niklo yahan se!” Her voice became shrill in anger. Some people turned to stare at her, making her lower her voice self-consciously. Vansh looked fearfully from her to Kabir. “Niklo warna tumhare Papa ko bata dungi. Don’t you dare come near my son again.”
She turned, pulling Vansh along with her. His tiny feet hurried to keep pace with her. The elderly lady tried to say something, glancing sympathetically back at Kabir, but was silenced with a scathing look from the woman.
Riddhima’s heart broke, seeing hot tears run down the boy’s face. He covered his face and sobbed, as people passed by him. They glanced at him for a moment, then looked away uncomfortably. To them, he seemed to be as much a ghost on the street as she.
“What the hell is wrong with her?” came Rudra’s voice from afar. She felt him squeezing her hand tightly. “First, she disappears last night. Now this! I thought she has gone to bed, tired from the bloody seva. Koi kuch bolega idhar?!”
She tried to squeeze his hand, his warm grip comforting her. Her eyes opened again, seeing a crowd of people behind Rudra. They were saying something to him, but the words made no sense to her. Rudra looked back at her and gasped. “She is awake! Riddhima?! Can you hear me? Riddhima? Don’t close your eyes. Fck! I said don’t sleep!”
Her eyelashes fluttered close. Darkness again.
“I will not share you with him! How dare he touch you?!” Sound of something clattering to the floor. She was in someone’s house. The walls were white with no embellishments. Wicker furniture adorned the hall, with huge pots of plants nearby. The smell of burning sage teased her nostrils.
“I’m not your bloody property, Kabir!” a woman snapped. She knew the voice. The heated voices were coming from upstairs. Riddhima made her way up a black serpentine staircase, eyeing the landing uneasily. Dreading what she may find next.
A man and woman were locked in an embrace, diffused sunlight shining on them from the high windows. “You are mine, Ahilya,” the man called Kabir whispered as she struggled. “Say you are mine!” Riddhima stopped still at the top, staring at the pair. Ahilya and Kabir?
He was holding the priestess tight, a desperate plea in his cinnamon eyes. For a moment he looked so much like the little boy she had seen. Her heart constricted in response to his naked longing for love. She stared at the man’s face, his features clear to her for the first time. He was handsome in his own way, with a light stubble dusting his baby cheeks. His dark hair curled slightly at the nape, one gold earring in his right ear. There was nothing to indicate the evil man that he would eventually turn out to be.
A burst of magic knocked him back, startling her. Ahilya’s grey eyes were glowing eerily, her formidable aura crackling the air. “I belong to no one,” she hissed menacingly. “Not you, not him. Not anyone. I am my Creator’s; He alone is my true love. You knew that when you started this arrangement, Kabir. Don’t you dare pretend otherwise!”
“I love you. I love you so much, Ahilya! Does that mean nothing to you?” His voice was hoarse.
“It does mean something to me. I am grateful for your love. But loving me is to love the mountains, the sun, the very stars.” Ahilya twirled in a perfect circle, spreading her arms. Pure ecstasy graced her beautiful face. “It is joy, worship, freedom…Feelings you know too little about.” She stepped near him, placing a hand gently on his cheek. “And I can’t accept any other kind of love.”
“But you will have to,” he retorted stubbornly, an ugly petulant twist to his full lips. His eyes blazed with anger and hurt. “Make the right choice, Ahilya. Or I will make it for you.”
She was saying something, her expression enraged. The words had become inaudible.
The scene began to blur, going in and out of focus. Riddhima blinked, watching the couple fade away. Was something wrong with her eyes?
“It’s time, child,” a voice spoke from behind. She wheeled around, her chest thudding hard. Sutapa’s milky eyes met her terrified ones. She was standing on the stairs, wearing her trademark grey shawl. “We have to go.” She grabbed her hand, her grip strong and unrelenting.
Before she could resist, the ground fell open beneath them. Riddhima screamed, her voice coming muffled.
An overwhelming sensation of falling forever. Pitch darkness swallowed her; a feeling of nothingness.
She gasped, sitting upright on the bed. Her disoriented eyes stared up at Sutapa, her hand still clasped in hers.
“Welcome home, child. We were all waiting for you.”
***