"Granny...one more story..."
Shivatmika lay with her head on her grandmother's lap under the ashoka tree by the river. The late evening sky was deepening, and the moon had just begun to filter through the fading light.
"Granny..."
Shivatmika called again, her voice a soft plea.
Her grandmother gazed at her for a moment, marveling at her granddaughter's unique beauty illuminated by the moonlight. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the Muthimala trees along the riverbank, lifting Shivatmika's hair. In her white top and dark blue jeans, she looked more enchanting than ever. Slowly, her grandmother ran her fingers through Shivatmika's hair.
"You're not too young to hear more than one story," she said with a smile. "Besides, my collection is nearly exhausted. I've told you the tales of Vikramaditya, the Panchatantra stories, the Arabian Nights, and so many others."
"Oh, come on, Granny... just one more," Shivatmika pleaded, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.
Shivatmika raised her hand and wrapped it around her grandmother's neck, pulling her close and pressing her lips to her cheek.
"You've grown up now..." Grandma said gently, her eyes filled with a mix of pride and nostalgia. "The age of listening to stories is over. Now, it's time for action."
"What do you mean?" Shivatmika asked, her brow furrowing in confusion.
"Don't you often imagine, in the stories I tell you, a prince riding a white horse in the moonlight to claim the princess? It's time for a prince to come into your life, too."
"You don't get to see anything like that in real life, Granny..."
"It's not like that, dear... There will be a suitable groom for you too. Somewhere... waiting for you."
Shivatmika understood that her grandmother was talking about her marriage. Ajmal's face came to her mind, and she blushed with embarrassment.
She slowly lifted her head from her grandmother's lap and looked toward the distant Muthimala, bathed in moonlight. The soft strains of a Shiva kirtan drifted through the air, filling her ears.
A light breeze blew, and Grandma covered her head and ears with a shawl.
"Granny, you'll have to tell me one more story anyway," Shivatmika said, a playful tone in her voice.
Grandma looked at her with a puzzled expression. "What story is that?" she asked eagerly.
Shivatmika smiled gracefully, her face glowing with a serene radiance. "My story..."
Grandma's face changed, her eyes taking on an indescribable depth.
"I asked Mommy and Daddy. Mommy said to ask Grandma..."
Grandmother thought for a moment, her gaze drifting to the clear riverbed. Shivatmika sensed that she was waiting for someone, or something, to come. After a moment of staring at the water, Grandma began.
"Well then, I'll tell you the story today."
Shivatmika was touched by the intensity of her grandmother's voice, rising above the murmurs of the river and the fragrant wind from Muthimala.
"Your story..."
For a moment, she saw her grandmother's eyes dive into the depths of memory.
"Long ago... centuries ago..."
Shivatmika noticed the leaves of the Ashoka tree had stopped moving. The wind's whistle had quieted, and the sky-high trees in distant Muthimala stood still. It seemed as though nature itself was holding its breath to listen to the story.
"Centuries ago, there lived a princess in our palace."
The words fell into a glassy silence.
"Her name was Avantika. Just as beautiful as you are."
Grandma ran her fingers through Shivatmika's hair again.
"And then? Continue the story, Granny..." Shivatmika urged.
"One day, a great ascetic and his young ascetic son arrived at our palace from a foreign land. The king duly received them both and arranged for them to stay in the palace."
Shivatmika's eyes widened with curiosity.
"The young ascetic was very handsome, but also very devout. He had none of the restlessness of youth and was focused solely on God. But what can I say... Avantika lusted after him."
Grandmother noticed Shivatmika's face growing pale, illuminated by the golden surface of the river where the moon and stars merged.
"Avantika's heart overflowed with love for him. Eating, sleeping, and every moment of her life, the young monk consumed her thoughts. She loved him more than her own life and wanted to possess him. She followed him wherever he went. Finally, one day, she revealed her heart's secret to him."
Shivatmika felt the story her grandmother was telling unfold vividly before her eyes.
"But the young ascetic saw Avantika's love only as a childish fantasy. He discouraged her. Yet Avantika was not ready to back down. She began to perform severe fasts to win the young ascetic's heart, forsaking food and sleep in the freezing snow, the scorching sun, and the pouring rain."
Beyond the windows of time, those scenes flashed before Shivatmika's eyes.
A forest where a young ascetic performed penance. Avantika, with the radiance of austerity, standing in the frozen river water.
"He felt the bulwarks of the young ascetic's spheres of penance weaken under the rigors of Avantika's vow. In a moment of lost concentration, a serpent descended from Muthimala and bit him. He fell unconscious. No cures or mantras brought back his consciousness. Even the court physicians failed."
The image of the young ascetic lying prostrate appeared in Shivatmika's mind.
"The great ascetic father, the members of the royal family, and the citizens all waited beside the body of the young ascetic while Avantika ascended the Muthimala. When she returned to those who were waiting for the death of the young ascetic, the snake that had bitten him stood in front of her, as if waiting for orders."
Shivatmika was engrossed in her grandmother's story, feeling as though even the flowing river had become still.
"Avantika ordered the cobra to take the poison back from the young monk. As everyone watched, the cobra applied its foam to the young monk's ankle where it had bitten. After a while, the young monk began to move slowly—his eyes, fingers... Finally, he opened his eyes and looked at everyone."
The sand shone golden under the sinking moonlight, casting a surreal glow over the landscape. Shivatmika felt a special feeling filling her, an unexplainable connection to something both timeless and immediate.
"That was a beginning," her grandmother's voice was soft, almost a whisper. "Avantika and the young ascetic fell in love, becoming one soul, one heart, and one body amidst the beauty of the hills of Muthimala."
Shivatmika's thoughts drifted, her mind painting vivid pictures of the past. She imagined herself as Avantika, and Ajmal as the young monk. In her vision, they were inseparable, united in the wilderness of Muthimala. Her heart began to race as she immersed herself in the scene.
"Honey..." her grandmother's voice pulled her back to the present.
"I'm listening, Granny," Shivatmika replied, eager for more.
"Isn't there a place where a Christian church stands north of our Shiva Parvati temple?" her grandmother continued. "That land was donated by your grandfather. The young monk's hermitage once stood there. His father was doing penance somewhere deep in the forests. Avantika would visit the hermitage often, noticing every small detail about the young hermit. He was the only one in her mind... but—"
Her grandmother's face grew pale, as if she had just remembered a long-forgotten tragedy.
"But what, Granny?" Shivatmika asked, her curiosity piqued.
"The young monk realized their relationship couldn't remain a secret for long. He confessed to Avantika's father. The day after her father found out, something terrible happened..."
Grandma pointed to the other side of the river, her finger trembling with the weight of the past.
"The body of the young monk was found beheaded there," she said quietly.
Shivatmika felt a burning sensation within her, a mixture of grief and anger.
"On hearing the news, the monk's father came running from the forest. He cursed the king who had killed his son," Grandma continued. "'Let there be no more girl in your race. If a girl is born in defiance of my curse, my son will rise and return to take her.'"
A heavy silence fell between them. Shivatmika broke it, her voice trembling. "What happened to Avantika later?"
"She came running to this riverbank, knowing the departure of her lover. She went down into this river, surrendering her heart, blood, and soul to its depths. Down... down..." Grandma's voice trailed off.
Shivatmika's eyes filled with tears, hot streams running down her cheeks. "Granny..." she called out in a panic.
"Hey, what are you showing me?" Grandma said, her tone shifting to comfort. "Isn't this just a story, dear? Do you want to cry like this?"
Shivatmika wiped her eyes, trying to steady herself. "What happened later, Granny?"
"There is a sacrifice that we have been performing since the beginning of our lineage, a sacrifice that is performed every twelve years. The sacrifice was to be performed by powerfully imploring the virgin princess of the clan. It was interrupted by Avantika's death. Then..." Grandma paused, leaving the rest unsaid, her eyes filled with memories too painful to share.
Grandma's eyes locked onto Shivatmika's, her gaze piercing. "It started again twelve years ago, when you were just five," she said, her voice low and mysterious.
Shivatmika's eyes widened in disbelief. "Granny, what are you talking about?"
Grandma's expression turned solemn. "You, dear, are the first girl born in our clan after Avantika."
Shivatmika's mind raced back to the stories her grandmother used to tell her. "But Granny, you said it was just a myth!"
Grandma's voice cracked, and for a moment, Shivatmika saw a glimmer of sadness. "I know, child. But the truth is hidden in the palm leaves of the palace library. Our genealogy is recorded there, and you won't find another girl's name after Avantika's."
A shiver ran down Shivatmika's spine as irrational fear crept in. But she pushed it aside, telling herself it was just an old legend.
Grandma continued, her voice steady now. "The full moon of Agrahayana, that's when the young monk and Avantika died. And centuries later, you were born on the same full moon."
Shivatmika's mind reeled as she remembered her mother telling her that her birthday was the full moon after Gajotsavam. The connections were falling into place, and a sense of destiny settled over her.
Her tongue felt dry, but a smile spread across her face as she realized the truth. History was repeating itself, and she was at the center of it all.
In the dim light of the evening, Shivatmika's thoughts drifted back to Ajmal. His image, etched deeply in her mind, lingered like a haunting refrain. The resolute determination in her voice was unmistakable as she vowed to herself, *Whatever young monk comes, I will be Ajmal's girl.*
She looked up at her grandmother, a playful smirk dancing on her lips. "So, Granny," she said, "the young monk is due to arrive soon, isn't he?"
Granny's eyes twinkled with bemusement as she responded, "What's the rush to see him, my child?"
Shivatmika's laughter bubbled up as she answered, "Oh, I can't wait to see Vishwamitra descend from the Pushpaka Vimana, carrying a gurgling goblet, shod in wooden sandals, and puffing away on a ganja beedi. And even if he turns out to be a Digambara, that's still less terrifying than my royal duties. Even as a princess, I don't have the courage to face that."
Her laughter rang out like a bell.
Will continue...