A Dance of Blood and Jasmine

Devgarh temple welcomes her like an old friend. The abandoned temple sits in another dark corner of the forest. Many years ago, plenty had danced around the stone walls. Plenty more had filled the courtyard, the humble and pious alike. Yet these days, nothing - nobody cares for these sacred walls save for Aarohi. The moonlight is in soft presence tonight. The night is silent, the slight jingle of her payals are soft whispers in the dark. Her lengha sweeps the temple floor, creating a different path over the erratic disturbance of the leaves and dust. It's odd, she notes because the disturbance looks fresh but as far as Aarohi knows it’s only ever her up here. She doesn't think on it too long as the temple gives her something new to ponder over. Abandoned temples remember devotion even if those who need it the most cannot.

‘Faith lingers in forgotten places,’ she thinks as she cautiously takes her next step.

It is the only reason she has. Nothing has grown within the temple for years. No visitors have left offerings, no devotees have swept the pathways or wiped down the murthis. No one is meant to be up here but the diyas have been sporadically lit. Through the measly light it offers she follows the path that has been created. Along the cracks of the stone that runs all the way deep into the courtyard blooms something quite extraordinary. 

White jasmines. 

The petals glimmer in the moonlight and she recognises them instantly.

“Not again,” she mutters

The scent is as delicate as the flowers that bloom erratically across the temple. Aarohi kneels but - does not touch the flowers. She dares not disturb them. She has seen them sprouting up all around town. In odd places these flowers bloom. But perhaps more odd is that no one else can see them. Like a beautiful nightmare, they silently taunt her. Being able to see them was only one of the few things that made her strange. Her strangeness seemed to frightened more than amuse people, so stubbornly she starting ignoring it - the flowers and the gossip. Her fingers reach for the petals again, but she restrains her. Unable to disturb their existence, or perhaps too afraid. If only she can see them, watch how they dance in the breeze and glimmer in the moonlight now, are they still real?

She is too afraid to know. Hastily she pulls back, standing to her full height as her eyes follow the path the white jasmines make. They bloomed sparsely and almost with restraint along the path. But as she follows them, they grow wilder, bigger and fuller. Aarohi thinks it’s the magic that seeps into the stone below but as she steps further, now suddenly surrounded by them, she knows it is not magic that she feels.

It is regret; so visible, so heavy in the air, she chokes on it. The denser the flowers become, the easier it is to feel it. Aarohi is deeply surprised because while she has seen these flowers growing in places they have no business to, she has never sensed it before. While before it had been an ember of something she could not name, now it is overwhelmingly obvious.

The jasmine trail leads her down the stone steps into the middle of the temple courtyard. There, in the middle of the stone courtyard where nothing should grow and nothing has- blooms a mini field of jasmines. All white, all gleaming in the moonlight. Never has she seen regret take such a beautifully tormenting shape before.

Aarohi looks up and this time, she truly believes she has gone mad.

There is a figure standing above the bed of jasmines that her mind cannot make sense of. The figure's hair and dupattamove gently in the wind. Only that makes her heart stutter a moment later because there is no breeze. She catches the way the moonlight seems to move through the figure's hand.

Impossible.

The figure’s feet do nothing more than graze the tops of the white jasmines. It should scare her but it doesn't, not until she takes note of the other figure. This one – a man - distinctly more solid but just as solemn, kneeling on the ground in front of the other. There is something about the way his shoulders sit, the outline of his figure in the dark that is familiar. But Aarohi cannot place him in any part of her mind. Her payals chime ever so slightly; it does enough to pull his attention to her. It draws both their attention in fact.

The kneeling man and the aatma.

Both turn to look at her. Only the man looks surprised to see her there. Through the aatma she catches the way his eyes grow wide and then in keeping with impossible things they glow.

"You."

His voice is rough - perhaps from crying Aarohi tells herself. Because glowing eyes in moonlight can only be the result of tears. It is the normal reason. The reasonable one. Still, there is recognition in that one word. Like the grief she cannot understand, this too confuses her.

"What are you doing here?"

It irks her that he sounds annoyed. For a moment, Aarohi can only look between the man and the aatma.

She doesn't answer, which seems to only fuel his irritation. The aatma only stares at Aarohi. At the distance she purposefully keeps, Aarohi takes note of the translucent quality of the aatma. There is something hauntingly beautiful in the way it simply exists. But the grief clouds this too. Bearing down on them all with an incredible weight, marking its place in this reality. It is the only way she knows this is real. She may be going mad but this is real too. The aatmashifts back to the kneeling man. The aatma holds out her hand, the moonlight catching it, making her glow brighter in the darkness. He too reaches out, his hand trembles and Aarohi knows it is not from fear. At least not of the aatma. He remains on his knees, his white dhoti dirtied from the dust and earth. On the floor beside him, a sheathed sword, seemingly forgotten. Aarohi holds in a breath, her heart clenching tight as she watches.

His hand passes through only air and moonlight. Her whispery form breaks into specks of dust as he passes through. There is a pitiful anguished sound he makes - close to a cry but he restrains himself. Aarohi takes another step into the courtyard as both his hands fall to his thighs. They twist the cloth of his dhoti. On bended knees he remains, head bowed and shoulders shaking. He is crying.

He is quiet at first,  as if trying to muffle his own grief. But when the aatma bends a little, her hand a whispering touch over his dark curls, he breaks. His shoulders shake uncontrolled now, deep rough cries that break him. And her.

Aarohi steps closer across the jasmine path. The distance feels too cruel. The closer she gets, the more saturated the air gets with the scent of jasmine. Not a calming, gentle brush of the air but a heavy cloud that fills all corners of the temple. The aatma doesn't speak but she doesn't take her hand away either. A small mercy, perhaps.

When she hears it the first time, her steps falter. Muffled words cut through anguished cries and unbridled grief. His words give her pause, shocking her into stillness.

"I'm... sorry... please... maaf keejiye..."

On repeat he goes. Aarohi does not stop him. The aatma does not stop him. She has no idea what he is apologising for. There is nothing that comes to mind that would equal his sorrow right now. If she thinks too hard on it, Aarohi knows what she might drum up would scare her and she does not scare easily. With no reasons for their circumstances, she is only left wondering who the aatma is. Aarohi can only gauge vague details of what she sees. Long, thick curly hair that moves without the wind. A young unnamed face that does not reflect his grief but something else that displaces her. The serenity of her existence draws Aarohi closer, despite everything else around them. Aarohi has closed the distance now, without meaning to. Against better judgement, she stays and watches the aatma and this man caught in some cruel existence. His words are clearer now,

"Please... forgive me. Di, I'm so s-sorry..." He stutters. "I didn't mean to..."

Aarohi gasps. His words shatter her illusions. The reality draws over her like another storm.

The word echoes, another cold nightmare in the air. Sister. Di.

The realisation settles heavily upon her as does the last of his words register. Her fingers cover her mouth, too late to silence her surprise. His head jerks up, his sharp eyes settling on her. The anger does not unsettle her. The recognition does. He looks at her like he knows her but more than that like he knows she should not be here. Immediately, she scowls.

"Aapne kya kiya?" The question leaves her quieter than she intends.

Yet, for the first time that night, he looks afraid. The accusation slices through the night with painful accuracy. He doesn't answer, instead his face twists to something else. His brow furrows, his shoulders set stiffly, and his hands press more firmly against his dhoti, like he is trying to ground himself.

"You shouldn't be here."

"Me?!" she is aghast. "What about you? What -"

"It's not your business," he says gruffly. The aatma has long since retracted her hand, the last of her tenderness barely lingering between them.

"Leave."

She scoffs. "No." Bravely or stupidly she takes another step closer. "Did you..." 

She cannot seem to finish her question. Still at her words, his eyes glow, perhaps in warning, perhaps with something else.

"It's none of your business," he repeats not looking at her. "You shouldn't be here. Leave. Now."

She disagrees. From the flowers only she can see, to the grief she can taste. Worse, he feels familiar, in a way that scares her because he is nothing but a stranger in the night. Only, he doesn't feel like one at all. Everything about him should feel unfamiliar but it doesn't. He lingers like an itch in her memory she cannot scratch. The fog thickens and distorts what she knows. Except for him. And perhaps that is the most maddening discovery she has made so far.

"Who are you?"

The question startles him and confuses her. Had she been wrong? Do they know each other?

He doesn't answer. Again. Frustration lifts the fog, giving her something new to focus on. The aatma reaches out and the same moment Aarohi takes another step.

"Don't." His voice does more than halt them both.

The winds pick up, something very different around them now. The air brushes against her skin, reassuring that it is real but somehow that does not calm her. The jasmines dance in the breeze, its heavy scent carrying upwards. Glancing down, she notices the blooming white jasmines seemingly struggle against something she cannot understand. Immediately, he seems to understand the change better than she does.

His entire body stiffens against the calm moonlight. The aatma too shifts, looking up to nothing yet. But there is an odd sense of resignation in her eyes. The first true emotion Aarohi has seen on her yet. Then, the change settles around them, oppressive and unforgiving. It goes silent in a new, daunting way. The moment stretches itself out unnecessarily. When she feels like she can no longer bear it, something gives way.

The white jasmines struggle and twist until red ones creep out, quickly suffocating the ones before. Aarohi watches in horror as the red jasmines take over. The white beneath struggle but it is a losing battle. She looks to him, maybe for help, or perhaps just an explanation. But he gives none. It does not fill her with confidence to note that he looks equally horrified. But not surprised.

Oh.

Aarohi grips her dupatta tightly in hand as she takes another step. A tentative step that she worries might disturb the violent red jasmines.

His eyes go wide with horror and he shakes his head, whispering urgently, "No! Don't. Leave. Please just leave now!"

But she doesn't. She can't seem to make her feet move in the opposite direction.

"Go, Aarohi," his voice breaks, and then he stops.

Her own horror is now reflected in his eyes. She stiffens and he freezes too.

He knows my name, Aarohi thinks. Her heart comes to a stop as she repeats again and again. He knows my name. Unconsciously, she steps closer and his hand tightens around the white fabric of his dhoti.

"How- What-"

"It's not important," he dismisses, not meeting her eyes. "It's not safe. Trust me, you need to leave."

She is aghast, her irritation quickly overriding her fear.

"Trust you?!" The audacity simply floors her.

"Yes."

It sounds almost pleading, as if he is afraid for her. "Believe me, you don't want to see what those flowers bring," he chides.

"Oy, Professor, your horror stories don't scare me," she manages to snap back.

Aarohi is not sure where it comes from, but the words leave her with startling familiarity. It helps that he looks just as shaken by her words as she does. Still he scoffs.

"You cannot imagine the horrors that exist."

Aarohi looks at the aatma, who only stares back. He laughs, a sound so jarring against the darkness creeping in. Then he looks at the aatma - his sister. Maybe a trick of her mind but Aarohi swears she sees the aatma smile. They sense it before she does, both looking to the looming darkness of the forest around the temple.

At her bare feet, the white jasmines - little though they are in number now - still fight futile against the red. The blood red of the jasmine is violent against the paleness of her lengha. From deep within the forest, she thinks she hears something. The unmistakable snapping of leaves underfoot. Heavy footsteps that echo louder with each passing moment. Aarohi expects something to leap out of the woods, rushing towards her with violent madness. But nothing does.

He stands but does not step away from his sister. As she is about to lull herself into some sense of security, it all changes.

From the night air and darkness, he materialises. Dark wisps of cloud and smoke merge to build his form; something tall, imposing and terrifying. Aarohi sees the eyes first. They glow red - like the red jasmines - and much like the flowers there is little tenderness in them. His massive form fills out quickly. Thick muscles, a face half hidden beneath the shadows, with a smile so sinister, Aarohi shivers. He - for it is an unimaginable mix of creature and man - stands dressed in a dark dhoti.

His footsteps do not disturb the dust of the courtyard, despite his massive form. It should be impossible. He should not exist, yet there he stands. The air swirls around his impossible form, clouding him from view as he walks. Then he stops and so does everything else.

Aarohi thinks she knows its name before it even speaks, but it's like smoke through her fingers. There is something forbidden about it. It looks between the man and the aatma and smiles.

"Rudra," it says. His voice runs like ice through her veins.

Aarohi stiffens.

The name sounds familiar to her in a way she cannot explain. It fits to him in a manner, like she always knew it belonged to him.

The rakshas smiles, enjoying the way the man, Rudra, twists at his own name open in the quiet night. 

“Why the drama?” It asks, sounding entirely too amused for the current situation.

The man, Rudra, glares but says nothing.

It only makes her think harder. The name repeats itself in her mind, much like his words had done earlier. Now that she knows it, there is that itch in her memory that digs a little deeper. While Rudra is not an uncommon name, there is something about this one—this man—that feels like hers. Aarohi cannot remember him, does not know him beyond his name, but something in her does. It recognises him and clings on. The thought frightens her, though not as much as the second name that comes to mind as she watches.

The creature laughs and her attention is drawn back to its imposing form.

“Haven’t you grown tired of losing to me?” the creature mocks.

It is not the coldness or cruelty in his voice that throws her off guard. Something else lingers.

Its name waits on the edges of her memories, stepping through the haze in much the same manner it did mere moments ago.

The creature smiles at Rudra, at the aatma. His wickedness is so easily distinguishable in that singular action. It curls itself around the temple, around them. Aarohi clings to his name only out of fear for what she doesn't know.

Rakshas.

As if that singular silent thought had summoned him, the Rakshas turns to her. He chuckles and the instant recognition in his eyes leaves Aarohi reeling.

"Jadugarni," the Rakshas says in amused greeting.

Her skin prickles at the name, at the implication and the amusement behind it. Sorceress. Witch. She has heard enough strange things about herself from her neighbours. She certainly didn’t need any more from this creature.

“What do you mean?”

Her question does not seem to surprise him as his smile only deepens.

"Don't you dare," Rudra growls.

The Rakshasa only laughs once more.

"How do you continuously find yourself in this situation, little brother?"

Aarohi gasps taking a step back. But before she goes even further, something settles in her that lets her believe Rudra is not the danger here. At least for now that is.

"There is nothing more here for you now. Leave."

Rudra's voice is steady, as he looks at the Rakshas.

Still Aarohi is not sure to whom he speaks to.

The Rakshas takes another step and he starts circling them in slow, leisurely steps.

"Your determination to fight me on every turn has grown past its admirable phase well into annoyance."

Aarohi shifts, moves with the Rakshas unwillingly to turn her back to it.

Rudra smiles cheekily with a confidence she does not understand.

"I'm disappointed you think I would just roll over and let you win."

The Rakshas does not say anything but comes to a stop. The abandoned temple building stands behind him, the murthisare a shadow in the moonlight.

He smirks in the light, something sinister and feral. He looks pointedly at the aatma as he says, "But I did win."

The humour leaves Rudra quickly. A dark and dangerous look buries itself in his eyes. They glow too in the moonlight but not red like the Rakshas’.

"And I have come for my prize." He looks between the aatma and Aarohi.

Her stomach twists but she does her best not to flinch. He laughs mockingly.

"Maybe I'll take this one too as my souvenir."

Aarohi feels the heavy hand of fear grip her heart. It squeezes painfully so.

"I did like the promise of her.”

His words clear some of the fog from her head but not the fear. Aarohi does not have the time to worry over it any further as she watches the Rakshas. He holds out his hand to Rudra, like he expects him to hand over his sister. She realises with some painful clarity that the Rakshas has come for the last embers of his spirit's soul.

"You did this to her!" Rudra cries angrily. "Was that not enough?"

"No. That was only the beginning."

Aarohi steps back, his words quiet but deadly all the same. Her feet brush something cold and soft. Glancing down, she is almost sick to see the red jasmines against her skin. She feels a shiver down her spine and quickly steps away. As the Rakshas laughs Aarohi notices the red jasmines bloom bigger.

"Foolish boy. Give her to me now."

Rudra stands resolute.

"You cannot have her."

Aarohi can feel and hear the guilt in his next words.

"She is my sister."

"Was," the Rakshas cruelly corrects. The white jasmines wither at his feet. "She was your sister. She is mine now."

"No," Rudra says stubbornly. "You have won nothing. You get nothing."

Aarohi wants to applaud his bravery but instead she pulls at the thread of his foolishness.

"I hope you have a better plan than standing in this decrepit temple with only this aatma and your stupid stubbornness, Professor!"

She doesn't miss it - the way the Rakshas and Rudra look at her.

There is only silence following her outburst and she hates it.

"Please tell me stubbornness was not your only plan," she presses.

Rudra looks at her in what she thinks might be disbelief. His sister - the aatma - even looks over at her with something akin to interest. The only thing that makes it all worse is realising the Rakshas looks more excited by whatever realisation he has come to.

"I knew this one was special," he grins.

"Oy, Professor." She tries again. "What was your plan?"

Aarohi chooses to ignore the Rakshas for a moment. It's all too much to take in. His presence, the red jasmines and above all else his words.

That seems to snap him back to reality. He scowls like it is all her fault.

"Why are you still here? Didn't I tell you to leave?"

"Well, much like you I can also be annoyingly stubborn," she snaps.

"Oh good, stubbornness was the mountain I wanted to die on," Rudra scoffs.

Aarohi's brow furrows deeply. Oh the nerve! 

"I don't intend to die up here but you seem perfectly happy with that. And if that's the case, I hope you bought a shovel!"

The Rakshas roars with laughter and Aarohi is embarrassed to realise they had forgotten about him.

"Shall I help you dig?" the Rakshas taunts.

Aarohi scowls.

"Only if you intend to crawl into the hole yourself!"

The Rakshas smirks, “I am happy to see you haven’t lost your fighting spirit, Jadugarni.”

The name irks her more than before but she doesn’t give him the pleasure of saying so.

“Come on, little brother, hand her over now,” The Rakshas demands. He takes another step forward.

Aarohi instinctively takes one step back, further from the Rakshas but closer to Rudra.

“I’m not asking anymore.”

Before Rudra can object again, the Rakshas holds out his hand once more to the aatma. Something awful twists in the pit of Aarohi’s stomach.

The Rakshas grins, his face gleaming maliciously in the moonlight. The aatma looks only at Rudra, and Aarohi thinks it with pity or perhaps resignation again. Not anger.

The Rakshas beckons her over and she goes. Unwillingly, she goes.

Rudra roars furiously. Reaching out futilely to try and stop her. She slips through his fingers, like the moonlight above them.

“No! No! No! Didi!” his voice grows hoarse as he screams. It echoes painfully into the quiet night. “Give her back!” his hands clench into fists, and then at something beside his waist. “You cannot –”

“But I have,” The Rakshas says calmly. The aatma – Rudra’s sister, hovers in front of him, unafraid. “I warned you it was impossible to win against me,” he glances down at the translucent girl before him, “and now see what you’ve lost.”

He reaches out, and unlike Rudra, whose hands simply passed right through her, the Rakshas grips her firmly in his large hand.

Rudra screams, the most agonising sound she’s ever heard.

He falls to his knees once more. “Please … don’t…”

But it is not enough. The Rakshas laughs, and looks at Rudra as he crushes the aatma in his hand. She looks only at her brother as her form splits into millions of little specks of light and dust.

Aarohi watches in horror and disbelief. Her mind repeatedly murmurs, impossible but her heart echoes the pain she sees on Rudra’s face.

They stand in the abandoned temple in silence. The Rakshas reveals in the pain he has caused. He licks his lips as the last light fragments of the aatma disappear.

“She tastes just as good as I remember.”

His words trigger something in Rudra. His shoulders stiffen and his fingers dig into the ground beneath his. His head bowed low with his dark curls falling over, blocking her view of his face. Aarohi can hear the heavy heaving of his laboured breaths.

Restraint, again.

Only this time she is not sure how long it will hold him out.

From beneath his fingers, the earth shifts, red jasmines bend struggle against the re-emergence of white ones. It takes over just as quickly as the red had done, if not with more vigour, like it has something to prove.

Aarohi gasps, finally drawing on a safe conclusion. The white jasmines are Rudra. The moment his magic touches the world.

It feels ridiculous to even think so, but it being ridiculous doesn’t make it any less true. He lifts his head as the jasmines grow rapidly, fighting the red for space. Up the pillars and across the courtyard they move.

It’s a shocking and beautiful sight all in the same breath.

She hears the clang of something unfamiliar. Steel.

Rudra remains kneeling on the temple ground, an unsheathed sword gleaming in the moonlight. His head remains bowed, but there is something assuring about what she sees in him now.

“Finally, a solution better than your stubbornness,” she mutters.

The Rakshas laughs. “But that is all he has left, Jadugarni. There is no power he possesses that can stop me. No simple silly little charms or even prayers.” 

Aarohi frowns and it seems to amuse the Rakshas.

“His power is growing weaker with each moment he denies who he is,” the Rakshas continues. “Simple blooms and stubbornness is all he can muster.”

“I am not you,” Rudra snaps. His voice rough and still full of pain.

“No you are not,” the Rakshas agrees, much to Aarohi’s surprise. “Because I am not weak. You who could not protect your own sister. What a shame.”

His hand grips the hilt of the sword tighter.

“That was my last mistake,” says Rudra. “Now, I will make things right.”

“A little too late for that, don’t you think?”

“It’s never too late,” Aarohi immediately corrects.

The Rakshas looks between them, a gleam in his eyes that she does not like.

“Why are you here, again?”

“Again?”

The Rakshas looks between her and Rudra and then throws his head back, laughing. “Oh you didn’t.”

He takes a languid step towards them. “Naughty naughty boy,” he taunts, waving a finger at Rudra.

The Rakshas looks entirely too pleased by his discovery, Rudra looks almost nervous and Aarohi is completely confused.

He must read it so easily on her face, as he says, “Oh he didn’t tell you, did he?”

“Don’t,” Rudra warns. “Leave her out of this.”

Aarohi frowns. “You know, I’m getting really tired of hearing you say that.”

“And I’m tired of you not listening!”

“I don’t take orders from strangers!” she seethes.

“But he’s not a stranger,” the Rakshas reveals slowly.

Against her bare feet on the cold temple stone, she can feel the gentle touch of the white jasmines. It tingles against her skin, something familiar, something known, and yet still something she cannot name.

“You were the one that promised family and love would cure all,” the Rakshas spits out like the very notion poisons him.

“And what would you know about love? Or family?” Aarohi questions, her mind reeling back to watching the last embers of the aatma disappearing.

“Plenty more than you apparently. At least I remember mine.”

His words leave a bitter hollow feeling in her heart, and her mind races to fill the gaps with something tangible.

The Rakshas looks at her with renewed interest now. “Then again …” he starts, with continued slow steps.

“Enough,” Rudra’s voice cracks through and for a beat the Rakshas does stop.

He pulls himself up, his sword still in his hand. Rudra stands tall and finally meets the Rakshas’ glowing red eyes.

His own glow golden and Aarohi muffles her surprise against her dupatta.

The Rakshas finds this funny. “Still surprised?”

Her frustration reaches its peak. “Stop it!” she cries. “I don’t care what you think you know!”

“I find your faith in him admirable, stupid but admirable all the same.”

“It’s not -”

“Well it won’t be for much longer,” the Rakshas clarifies. Her brow furrows even further and finally he takes pity on her. “How cruel of you little brother. And they say I’m the monster.”

“You are,” she says.

The Rakshas smiles. “Not like yours.” He glances at Rudra and smirks. “Tell me Jadugarni, what does it feel like to defend your forgotten lover?”

Something heavy lifts from her head at his words. Like the itch is finally within reaching distance. It doesn’t make sense all at once, but only a few pieces fall into place. Rudra’s familiarity lingers the most.

She cannot remember him, but something in her does. And clearly he does too. There’s an impossible look of guilt that he possesses. 

She stands under the moonlight, her gaze flickering between the Rakshas, his cruel taunts, and Rudra. The enigma he has been all night. Memory strains at the edges of her mind. She cannot reach it, but she knows it belongs to him.

“Oh, you feel it, don’t you?” The Rakshas looks too eager not to continue. “Tell me then, who is the bigger monster here?”

White jasmines continue to unfurl around her bare feet. Their petals brush gently against her skin. Her payals chime softly, answering a question she dares not ask yet.