Page 2 of The Burning Mountain
But he had been comfortable with their status quo. And now with this revelation, everything was cast in shadows.
Veer wasn’t given to procrastination. He was decisive and rarely doubted himself. And yet, when it came to her, everything was topsy-turvy. Self-loathing settled into his chest, like a burr under his saddle—right alongside the specter of doubt—whenever he thought of her undergoing the punishment he had sentenced her to.
When she confessed everything about the past to him, he said he didn’t believe her. It was a knee jerk reaction. But every passing day, with every moment spent in her company, eroded his conviction that he was right. His mind dreaded going down the what if pathway. What if she was innocent? What if Virat had turned as evil as she reported? He couldn’t dislodge the suspicion that a yawing abyss of guilt awaited him—one he had no idea if he would ever get out of.
Low murmurs distracted him from his thoughts. The other two children, a boy and girl, hid behind their mother’s saree and stared goggle-eyed at Chandra, whispering to each other. Veer could understand their fascination. Even wearing an ordinary dusty-green saree over a checkered jacket, she drew the eye. Perhaps it was a combination of her striking features and approachability. Or maybe something else. He never figured out himself.
“Are you ready to leave? We need to go now,” said Veer, trying to hide his grumpiness. If only she knew the power she held over him. But then, she was too honorable to use it to heradvantage. He felt alternatively angry that she had kept a secret of such magnitude all these years, and ashamed of all that she had to endure at his hands.
When he started on the quest to complete the Lotus Key to save his kingdom from Meru’s eruption, he had no idea he would come to appreciate his wife for her resourcefulness. And her willingness to continue on despite being severely injured in the forest. Athishands.
Granted, he hadn’t been in the right frame of mind, he thought, clenching his left hand where the demon Ilavasura slept. The rakshasa had been unusually quiet since their debacle, showing a rare repentance for his actions.
Chandra carefully handed the sleeping baby to the woman. “Please wait a second,” she said and plucked the bejeweled hairpin from her bun, handing it to the woman, folding it in her hand despite the woman’s protests that she couldn’t accept such a gift.
“That was a nice thing you just did,” remarked Veer as they went on their way.
“It was nothing. The baby needed soothing, and I employed the trick I used to use for Sarun and it worked.”
“I don’t mean that, although that was neat too.”
“What did you mean then?” she asked, tilting her head at him.
“That hairpin.”
“Oh, that.” She suppressed a shudder. “I willneveruse that hairpin again. Might as well give it to her. The jewel in it will fetch a pretty price and I already leached the poison from it.”
Veer watched the emotion on her face and wondered how she would react if he were to reveal everything the yaksha had told him privately. Specifically, the Seven Lives Curse—when he seemed to imply that Veer and Chandra’s destiny was linked; and had been for several past lives. He was deliberately vagueabout the details, but Veer didn’t think he would ever forget the warning the yaksha had imparted to him, about putting her in danger.
“Why not, Princess? That hairpin was very effective.” The words tumbled out of Veer’s mouth in a jest, before he could swallow them.
“How can you joke about such things? I almost killed you,” she chided. “Anyway, where are we going?” She shivered and huddled into her saree. She had draped the plait over her shoulder like a wrap. “It’s going to be dark soon. We have to find shelter.”
Since the passing of summer, the nights had gotten colder, and they had elected to spend them indoors when possible.
“The headman’s house.”
“What?” Her eyes widened. “But didn’t I hear our host say he is a miser? Why would he provide us shelter?”
“He probably won’t,” said Veer, his mind busy plotting. “But I have an idea. All I need is a rock and a recipe for soup.”
The village headman,Lalasa, sat on the heavily carved wooden swing and counted coins into two bags. The smaller portion he’d release as government funds into the community. The much larger portion would go into his personal funds.
He strung up the larger sack and weighed it in his hands, the clink of money filling him with satisfaction. Maybe he could sanction a new road in front of his mansion. The old one was pockmarked with potholes. If anyone complained, he could argue that he was spending money on repairing roads. He had to at least maintain the appearance of doing something for the community.
Lately though, he had been getting pushback from the villagers. He wouldn’t be surprised if some of them had complained to the king about him by now.
But the new rulers were not like Harideva, the previous king. They allowed government officials to be lax in their duties, provided they remained loyal to the new regime. The headman knew he was safe from any retaliation.
Theglop-glopsound of boiling water reached his ears, and he glanced toward a corner of the central courtyard, where a man and his wife sat. Late in the evening, they had shown up at his doorstep, claiming to be travelers passing through and asked for shelter from the night.
Lalasa planned to turn them away, like he usually did, but the man claimed to have a magic stone in his possession that could make the “most delicious soup you’ve ever tasted.”
The headman was skeptical. But it was the evening ofNaga Panchami, an auspicious day where it was required that people fast until midnight if they wanted their wishes fulfilled. He had resolved to double his wealth by next year, so he decided to observe this fast. What’s more, he ordered his entire household to fast as well.
As a result, no cooking fires burned in their home this evening, and everyone was hungry. And bored. Lalasa allowed the strangers to stay so they could provide some distracting entertainment.
So far, all the man had asked for was a large pot of water that he set on the small clay stove. Lalasa’s wife of thirty-odd years had brought one from the kitchen and set it on the floor of the entranceway herself.
