Her brother was dead. The last thing she had said to her brother had haunted her dreams yesterday.
Her brother's lifeless eyes watching her, accusing her. "How could you say that to me?" It seemed to say.
Isha shook her head, wiping the tears that had begun to flow again. The waterworks seemed limitless in her. Don't think about your nightmares.
It was the morning of her brother's funeral. She had to look presentable, today of all days. Her older brother deserved at least that much from her.
The first thing she did was remove the jewellery she wore, even in her sleep. She began with her bracelets, then moved to the earrings. The silver chain that she always wore in her neck, a gift from her father, went next. Finally, see removed.
Then, she removed another silver chain that she wore around her angles. Small silver bell hung at equal intervals on the anklets. It was a gift from a Monarch of one of the nation she had once visited whose name she did not remember.
After removing all her jewellery, she walked into the bath chamber. Two copper tubs filled with warm waters her serving maids had prepared awaited her. And there was a tray filled with ash.
She got into the first tub, rinsed her body the best she could. Usually, her bath would be scented and there would be soaps for her. But on funeral days, you did not use scents and soaps. It was not proper. Instead, you cleaned yourself with ash from an oak tree.
She got out of the first tub and lathered the ash from the oak tree all over her body before jumping into the second tub to rinse it off. It was all part of her brother's funeral.
The ash from the oak tree signified her grief, and rinsing it off signified her moving on from it someday. Though she knew it wouldn't happen soon, or ever.
After Isha dried herself, she slipped into a sky blue gown. It had neither lace nor buttons. It had to be worn over her head. The gown reached down to her ankles and covered half of her neck.
She did not wear any ornaments in her hair and let it fall loose. Finally, she was in proper funeral attire.
Now, all she had to do was wait for her attendant to take her to the funeral grounds.
***
When a scion of a great house or nobility died., they made a grand procession across the city before performing a public funeral. Father wanted a quiet funeral, so he did none of that.
She respected her father for it. The idea of parading her brother's corpse across the city sickened her, even if they were doing it out of respect.
Father had invited only the closest relatives, a few of his strongest political allies and most of the house servants for the funeral and no one else. Even then, more than a thousand people were present for the funeral, including the priest and her mother.
Just like her, everyone wore blue and no ornaments. All of them held are small flower vase with a single flower sitting on it.
She stood at the front, grabbing her father's gruff hand. Like her father, she carried a vase with Marigold, hoping for a safe passage for her brother to the afterlife.
Everyone carried different flowers, each signifying different things. Thankfully, none of those flowers were black. Black flower signified hatred for the diseased.
Her mother stood next to her father. Her cold onyx eyes as impassive as ever. She carried a daisy. It was a wonder the flower in her hand wasn't black.
"Father," she said.
"What is It?" Isha.
"I …" she choked. "I told him I hated him before he died. It … I…"
"It's all right, sunshine. Your brother knows you did not mean those words. He told me himself."
Tears rolled down her eyes. She was a terrible human being. "But that's just it, Father. I … I meant. I still hate him for leaving me behind."
"No, daughter. What you feel is not hate, it is love. Anger, perhaps, but not at your brother, at his death and the gods who caused it."
"How can you know how I feel? You're just trying to make me feel better. That's what you do."
His father's grip grew firm in her hands, squeezing hers. Not painfully, but with all the love in the world.
"Because, sweetheart, I'm old and I have lost loved ones before. Trust me, a father knows."
Isha did not know what to say. How many times had her father lost people he loved? How awful it must have been! She stood silent, tears falling freely as the priest spoke.
"To all the families who have gathered today, we do so to honour the life of young Isham. To know that he's lived his life and that it mattered."
"In the remembrance of his life, we have come together to mourn and to ensure his safe passage to the afterlife. Though he may have gone from this world, leaving behind the trials of earth, following the paths of heaven—he shall forever remain in our memories. And so long as we remember him, memories of laughter and pain—of life well lived, he shall remain alive within our hearts."
The priest spoke for a few more minutes about the uncertainty of life and the inevitability of death, of acceptance and faith, before ending the eulogy.
The second to speak was her father, then her mother. After that, a few other relatives who were particularly close to her brothers spoke. Her father spoke the longest. Mother's voice lasted barely a minute, and it had no emotion.
When everyone had spoken their mind, they placed the flowers one by one around and over the crate. Isha was the first to do it as the youngest member of the family.
"Now," the priest intoned. "We must protect his body from the vileness of this world."
The priest opened a book. It glowed electric gold as spoke the incantation that would prevent the zombification of her brother. Without the incantation, the energies of the world might animate her brother, turning him into a mindless body, hungry for flesh. Insatiable hunger.
"With his body secure from the corruption of the world, I call upon the goddess of life, Tsuganda, to bless us with the waters of heavens, so that he may move to afterlife, without sins, without pain and regrets. May he move on, pure of soul and heart."
The sky darkened. Lightning fashed, and with a rumble, rain fell. Of course, the goddess of life had not answered. It was a simple spell work. Rain had always been part of the funeral, and those who did not have the luxury of spell used the buckets of water.
She let the rain water hit her face, allowing it to flow along with her tears. So it was, she mourned with the heavens.
She still could not believe her brother was dead. How could she? She remembered her brother smiling at her, laughing and even crying just the other day. How could people leave you behind so abruptly? Never to be seen again. She no longer would be able to hear his voice. His soft laughter, the mocking glint in his eyes whenever he made a joke at her expense. She would even miss fighting with a brother. Those were good times. Memories made everything worse.
The rain stopped and the funeral ended after the burial of her brother.
"How could you go and leave me like that? You should have died when you were old and wrinkled, surrounded by your great-great grandchildren. Not like this."
Everyone stood in silence for a long while, but her mother left without saying a word.