"Wake up, girl."
A soft yet insistent nudge shook me from sleep. I squinted against the flood of sunlight, realizing I was lying by the edge of a lake so still it looked like glass. The water mirrored the sky, an expanse of pale morning blue dotted with wisps of white clouds, rippling slightly where reeds brushed against the surface.
As I pushed myself upright, a hand extended towards me. It was slender, with fingers as graceful as willow branches, adorned with rings that gleamed faintly in the morning light. I followed the arm up to the face of a woman whose expression was gentle yet knowing. Her gaze held the warmth of early sunrays filtering through a canopy of leaves.
The grove around us seemed otherworldly in its beauty. Every leaf was lush, a shade of green so vivid it looked painted, and the air carried a faint, earthy sweetness mingled with the scent of water lilies and fresh soil. The woman before me was not alone; seven maidens stood together, each poised and quiet, as if they had stepped out of a dream. Their skin glowed with a warm, golden hue, like the first light of dawn kissing the earth.
Their eyes, deep and dark, seemed to hold entire constellations, glinting with a light that was both gentle and piercing. Long black tresses cascaded down their backs, each strand gleaming as though woven with stardust. Adorned with strings of white pearls and delicate jasmine buds, their hair swayed slightly in the morning breeze.
Each maiden wore a saree in a different shade of blue-from the palest aquamarine to the deepest midnight, capturing every hue of the sky at different times of the day. The silk shimmered in the sunlight, catching flecks of gold and silver that danced as they moved. It was as if they were woven from the fabric of twilight and dawn itself, guardians of some ancient secret hidden within the grove.
"Thank you for saving me," I murmured, mesmerized by the sight before me. The maidens stood around me like visions from a half-remembered dream, their smiles soft and radiant against the shimmering lake.
They exchanged glances, a silent conversation passing between them, their eyes warm with knowledge far beyond my understanding.
"Who are you? Are you new to Palshet?" I asked, my voice tinged with confusion.
One of the maidens stepped forward, her smile tinged with amusement. "Are you the one who placed the Naivaidya?" Her voice was as gentle as the morning breeze, yet there was something probing beneath her question.
I shook my head, a chill settling over me. "No... I didn't place any Naivaidya." The words felt hollow in my mouth, as if I'd forgotten what they even meant. "I think I should go home now." I turned to leave, yet my legs refused to move, rooted in place as if the earth itself held me captive. A shiver ran down my spine, and in that instant, the memory of drowning surged back. Cold water, darkness, the sensation of life slipping away. But here I was, somehow alive, surrounded by these enigmatic beings.
"Don't be afraid," another maiden spoke, her eyes filled with a kindness that felt almost otherworldly. "Tell us, why did you choose to cast yourself into the lake?"
The words struck me like a thunderclap. The memory overwhelmed me, and before I knew it, I was speaking, my voice raw and trembling. I told them everything-my despair, my fears, the heaviness that had driven me to the water's edge.
The maidens listened in silence, their expressions shifting with each word. One sighed, a note of resignation in her voice. "It must be karma."
"No," murmured another, her eyes shadowed. "It must be a curse."
"It's destiny," a third said, her words soft yet firm, carrying the weight of acceptance.
They looked alike, yet each held a unique aura, a shade of wisdom or sorrow that set her apart. Their eyes lingered on me, their gazes deep and solemn, as though seeing into the very fabric of my soul.
"Do you wish to continue living," one asked, her tone gentle yet unyielding, "or follow through with your intended end?"
My heart skipped. I wasn't alive. I wasn't meant to be here. I could hear heartbeats nor any sensations on the skin.
One of the maidens extended a hand toward me, her fingers soft against my cheek. "You may face a life of sorrow," she said, "or we could guide you to a place beyond pain, beyond time."
The words trembled on my lips. "Mother, have mercy on me," I whispered, "allow me to see my loved ones again."
The maidens exchanged a final look, their expressions both tender and resolute.
"So be it," they intoned in unison, raising their right hands. A light radiated from them, warm and all-encompassing, filling me with a sense of peace I hadn't known in a lifetime.
Darkness closed in, and I felt myself falling... falling...
When I opened my eyes again, the world around me felt heavy with history, as though I had awoken in the middle of someone else's life. I was lying on a soft satin bed in a dim room. The scent of incense lingered, mixing with the earthy smell of old stone. Shadows flickered along the walls, cast by oil lamps that sputtered in the room's corners.
I wasn't Damini anymore. I was Saudamini-Mini, they called me here, in a time that wasn't mine.
Saudamini Rao was daughter of an aristocrat Vallabh Rao, who was away in capital working for the Crown Prince of Kolhapur State.
She was a motherless child raised by her paternal aunt Radha in Palshet.
Saudamini took bet to swim across the lake on the haunted moonless night. Where she drowned in those dark waters and the Goddess sent me here.
Stumbling out of bed, I looked around the village, noting each strange detail. Palshet, but not the Palshet I knew. It was still surrounded by the Sahyadri mountains and the Arabian sea. Mud houses lined the narrow paths, some with hay roofs that hadn't yet been replaced with tiles. Electricity hadn't touched this place, and a tall watchtower loomed in the distance, still under construction. The lake was here, still and unchanged, a mirror to a sky untouched by telephone wires.
And there, standing proud and untouched by time, was Rao Wada.
The mansion loomed at the edge of the village, surrounded by gulmohar and mango trees, its intricate wooden balconies draped in shadow. The pillars were carved with patterns too beautiful to be real, too old to be familiar. Yet, I knew this place-the broken remnants of it, anyway. In my time, it was nothing but a haunted ruin, abandoned and feared.
Now it was grand, pristine, the courtyard lively with servants and visitors. And in its heart, my father, a man who smiled at me with warmth in his eyes, a man whose kindness felt genuine yet strange.
"Mini," he called, his voice warm and fatherly. "Come along. After Dussehra, we'll visit the palace together. You'll love it."
He had promised Saudamini before leaving her at home. Her memories and mine had merged.
I couldn't reconcile the gentle father in her memories with the tale of the man who would set fire to this very mansion, killing everyone within its walls.
As I lay awake that night, the room cloaked in the shadows, I felt the weight of my borrowed name. Saudamini-a name that struck like thunder, a reminder of the fate that awaited this family, this life I'd inherited. Had I been given this chance to change things, or was I merely a spectator, forced to watch history unfold in blood and flames?
I didn't know, but the question echoed in my mind, a relentless reminder of the curse that lay ahead, the weight of two lives pressing down upon me.