Shivatmika pushed open the iron gate of the bungalow, the familiar creak echoing in the evening quiet. As she stepped through, her gaze met that of the watchman, Sukumaran, who was lounging by the gate. His tobacco-stained smile revealed a row of crooked teeth as he took a slow drag from his cigarette.
She glanced at her watch, noting the time. "It's nearly eight," she thought. "Dad's going to have plenty to say."
The scent of tobacco mingled with the cool evening air. Shivatmika arched an eyebrow as she caught sight of the cigarette butt smoldering between Sukumaran's fingers. "Don't think your laughter is going unnoticed," she warned, her tone light but firm.
Sukumaran's eyes widened slightly, and he hastily dropped the cigarette to the ground, crushing it under his heel. "I wouldn't dare, Miss Shivatmika. If your father found out I was smoking on duty, I'd be out of a job."
A small, knowing smile played at Shivatmika's lips. "I can imagine the fear you must have."
She turned, the click of her heels echoing on the stone path as she made her way to the bungalow. The anticipation of her father's reaction made her heart race, though she maintained a calm facade.
Entering the verandah, Shivatmika called out, "Daddy?"
Her father, Satyanarayanavarma, looked up from his business magazine. His expression shifted from absorbed concentration to mild surprise. "Shiva, why are you late?" he asked, his voice carrying a mixture of concern and irritation.
Shivatmika stepped into the cool shade of the verandah, her voice carrying a note of feigned urgency. "It's daddy," she began, "one of our friends had a little accident. We had to go to the hospital to check on him."
The words felt foreign on her tongue, but she pushed them out. Her father, Satyanarayanavarma, glanced up from his magazine, his brow furrowing slightly. "Hmm... your journey seems to be getting longer each time," he remarked, his tone laced with suspicion.
The soft murmur of the conversation reached Asha Devi, who emerged from inside the bungalow. Shivatmika's gaze met her mother's, noting the familiar disapproval in her eyes.
"Didn't I tell you to be home before dark, Shiva? How old do you think you are?" Asha Devi's voice was sharp, carrying the weight of a long-standing rule.
Shivatmika's face flushed with a mix of frustration and defiance. "Why are you talking like this, Mommy? I'm not a little child anymore. I'm old enough to think for myself and make my own decisions."
Asha Devi's eyes narrowed slightly. "It's precisely because of that conviction that we allow you to sing with the music band, despite our reservations. It's fine for you to come late on days when you have a program, but can't you at least be punctual on days when you don't? Every minute you're late, it feels like the man's patience is on fire here."
Satyanarayana Verma looked up from his chair with a gentle smile. "Shiva, come here," he called, his voice warm and inviting.
Shivatmika approached her father, who reached out to tenderly stroke her hair. His touch was both reassuring and filled with a fatherly concern. "Honey, you're not a little girl anymore. That's what worries us. You're almost eighteen, and we can't predict what lies ahead."
Asha Devi, standing nearby, placed a hand over her heart in a gesture of exasperation. "What if I turns eighteen, Daddy?" Shivatmika asked, her eyes searching her father's face for an explanation she couldn't grasp.
Satyanarayana Verma's expression grew stern. "It's not your time to understand that yet. Go inside now."
The harshness in his voice was a stark contrast to the warmth from moments before. Shivatmika nodded silently and retreated into the house, her mind swirling with unanswered questions.
**************
The first light of dawn crept over the horizon, casting a golden glow upon the summit of Muthimala. The sun's rays gently warmed the mountain, causing the delicate snowdrops on the leaves to dissolve into glistening droplets of water. Nature seemed to come alive with the symphony of birds welcoming the new day.
Shivatmika stirred from her slumber and stretched, her eyes still heavy with sleep. She shuffled to the window and peered out, taking in the tranquil morning scene. Muthimala stood majestically against the backdrop of the rising sun, its grandeur highlighted by the early light.
After completing her morning rituals, Shivatmika made her way downstairs. Her mother was already in the pooja room, as she was every morning, engaged in her prayers. Shivatmika had often noticed that her mother's prayers seemed to focus on seeking deliverance from enemies, a curious preoccupation given their peaceful life. Shivatmika knew of no adversaries in their midst. Her father, Satyanarayana Varma, was a man of amiable disposition, with no known enemies in business or personal life. The only people she could think of were Minister Vasudeva Menon's son, Surya, and his acquaintances—but they hardly seemed like foes.
So why did her mother's prayers always center on this notion of enemies? Shivatmika pondered the question as she prepared for the day, her curiosity piqued by the enigma of her mother's devout supplications.
Shivatmika wandered into the kitchen, her mind still foggy with sleep. Janu, the kitchen maid, looked up from her chores and greeted her with a warm smile.
"Up early, are we?" Janu asked, her tone light and cheerful.
Shivatmika blinked, momentarily confused. "No, sis, I usually get up around this time."
Janu's brow furrowed slightly. "Isn't today a holiday? Don't you usually sleep in a bit longer on holidays? What about today?"
The realization hit Shivatmika, and she sighed. "Oh, right. Today is a holiday. I didn't remember. Looks like I've missed out on some extra sleep."
A hint of disappointment colored her voice. Janu's expression softened with sympathy. "Oh honey, do you want some tea?"
"I'll make it myself, sister," Shivatmika replied, already moving toward the stove. Making her own tea was part of her morning routine, a comforting ritual she wasn't willing to forego. She quickly lit the stove, brewed her tea, and poured it into a cup. With the steaming cup in hand, she left the kitchen, the aroma of tea mingling with the quiet stillness of the morning.
As Shivatmika moved past the kitchen, she entered the hallway that led to her parents' room. Beyond that lay the pooja room, and further along was the spacious dining hall, furnished with a table and several chairs.
Passing her parents' door, she caught snippets of a muffled conversation. Intrigued, she paused to listen more closely. Inside, Asha Devi was speaking to Satyanarayana Varma with a hint of concern in her voice.
"Why were you so angry with Shiva yesterday? Can you answer her question? Isn't she old enough to know the truth?"
Satyanarayana Varma's voice was thoughtful and measured. "I know, Asha. She should know eventually. But I'm feeling a bit hesitant."
Asha Devi responded firmly, "Even if we don't tell her, she'll figure it out on her own. It's better that we explain it to her ourselves before she finds out in another way."
Satyanarayana Verma was silent for a moment, considering his wife's words. He realized she was right. The decision to talk to Shivatmika about it seemed increasingly inevitable.
Satyanarayana Varma's voice softened with resolve. "Yes, you're right. If she asks again, I'll tell her. We can't keep this from her forever."
Shivatmika, listening from the hallway, felt a surge of determination. Secrets were lurking in their home, she realized, and she was determined to uncover them.
She resolved to approach her parents once more and press them for answers. If they remained evasive, she would turn to Granny. Granny had always been a reliable source of stories—and perhaps, in this case, secrets as well.
Evenings spent walking along the riverbank with her grandmother were Shivatmika's favorite holiday tradition. Granny would weave tales of adventure and enchantment: a prince on a pearl-colored horse rescuing a princess from a witch's castle, a prince transformed into a frog by a monk's curse, and only freed by marrying a golden-haired princess, or a handsome prince who became a monster and could only return to his true self through the love of a beautiful princess. Granny's stories were as boundless as the river itself, each one a new world of magic and wonder.
Remembering those cherished moments, Shivatmika felt a pang of nostalgia. Her grandmother's endless reservoir of tales was a comforting constant in her life, and she hoped that in these stories, she might also find the answers she sought.
Shivatmika's thoughts wandered as she sipped her tea in the grand dining hall, her gaze drifting across the polished table and the intricate patterns of the carpet beneath. Her mind snapped back with a jolt of determination. There was only one thing that mattered now: the secret her parents were so determined to keep from her. She was going to uncover it, no matter what.
Her father, Satyanarayana Varma, had just risen from his seat and was making his way towards the door, a newspaper tucked under his arm. She knew his routine well—he'd head out to the verandah, lose himself in the day's news, and then set off for his usual jog. Shivatmika's heart quickened. She needed to speak to him before he could escape into his routine.
As she rose from the table and approached the door, she remembered a conversation she had overheard not long ago. Her parents had been discussing something in hushed tones, unaware of her presence.
"Our daughter's turning eighteen on the full moon after Gajotsavam," her mother's voice had trembled with concern. "There's no telling what trouble might come our way."
"We can't prevent it, Asha," her father's voice had been calm yet resigned. "Just accept it as God's will and try to stay at ease."
It was as if the scene had been lifted from one of those magical dramas she had seen in movies—except this was her reality, and she couldn't ignore the nagging questions. What kind of trouble could befall her on her eighteenth birthday? As she slipped outside, determined to get answers, the weight of her upcoming birthday loomed large in her mind.
Shivatmika polished off her tea in swift, efficient gulps before making her way to the verandah. Satyanarayana Varma was ensconced in his usual chair, the epitome of morning routine. The small table in front of him was littered with that day's newspapers, their headlines beckoning for his attention. It was a ritual as ingrained in their lives as the track suit he wore—a relic of a habit spanning as far back as Shivatmika could recall.
Durgapuri lay sprawled in serene splendor, a patchwork of fields and estates untouched by the frenetic pace of urban life. Here, the land stretched out in peaceful expanses, with amenities that rivaled the finest cities, yet without their noise and rush. The estate belonged to her father, the Durga Group of Industries emblazoned in golden letters across the map of Indian industry, a testament to his success.
Beyond Durgapuri, her father's influence spread across Kerala, with various business interests managed by a network of operators. Though he remained distanced from the everyday hustle, his presence was felt through the careful orchestration of his affairs.
Nearby, the old palace, just two hundred meters from their bungalow, stood as a regal remnant of a bygone dynasty. Satyanarayana Varma maintained the palace as a museum, its historical grandeur open to visitors free of charge. The palace was not merely a monument to the past but a living testament to their family's storied legacy, welcoming all who wished to explore its timeless beauty.
"Daddy..." Shivatmika's voice quivered slightly as she approached Satyanarayana Varma, who was absorbed in his newspapers on the verandah.
He glanced up from the headlines, his expression one of curiosity. "What is it?"
"I need the answer to the question I asked yesterday. But I'd also like to hear about something else, something like that."
Satyanarayana Varma raised an eyebrow. "What's the matter?"
Shivatmika took a breath, her eyes reflecting a mix of eagerness and seriousness. "I want to know about the secret of Muthimala. The story goes that there's a treasure amulet hidden there, protected by a gigantic snake that kills anyone who tries to climb the mountain. Dad, you're the only one who can tell me anything authentic about this."
Satyanarayana Varma's gaze softened with a hint of amusement. "Are you planning to make a documentary about it?"
Shivatmika shook her head. "No, it's not for a documentary. I know bits of the story, but only you can provide some real details. It's important to me."
Her father studied her earnest face for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Alright, I'll tell you what I know."
Shivatmika leaned in, her attention riveted as Satyanarayana Varma began to recount the tale.
Will continue...