Next day, I found myself strolling along the outskirts of the village, as I often did. The place had a way of enchanting me every time. The landscape was a picture of rustic charm ,towering toddy and coconut trees lined the foothills, while wild shrubs spread across the slopes, swaying gently in the breeze. It was a slice of untouched, ancient beauty.
As I walked, the lively giggles of children caught my attention, leading me toward a familiar hillock where I spotted a group of kids huddled around a man. The scene made me pause. The man spoke to them with such warmth and ease, his voice carrying a rich, melodic tone that held the children spellbound and me, too.
"Education is the key to your future," he was saying with a passion that made his words seem like a promise rather than mere advice. "Knowledge will open doors for you that you never imagined."
"Bharat is colonized. We will study their syllabus, infiltrate their government, and crumble their empire."
I found drawn closer, compelled by his words. There he stood, in a crisp white shirt, suspenders, and Khaki pants that hinted at a sense of neatness and discipline. His leather shoes were dusted with earth, yet he carried an air of grace, as if he belonged to both the soil beneath him and something far grander. His sun-tanned skin glowed in the afternoon light, and his brown eyes shone with an unspoken kindness as he interacted with the children.
It felt like everything else around us had dimmed into the background. I could see only him, and he turned his gaze towards me as if he had sensed my presence. His eyes met mine, and time seemed to halt. It was as if the entire universe had conspired for this one moment. The connection was instant and electric. There was a softness in his gaze, a depth that stirred something within me, something I hadn't felt in a long time, if ever. It wasn't just attraction; it was a profound sense of recognition, as if my soul had been searching for his across lifetimes.
He held my gaze for a moment longer before breaking into a gentle smile, one that made my heart flutter in a way that was both exhilarating and terrifying. I felt my breath catch, my pulse quicken, as he took a step closer.
"Good afternoon," he greeted, his voice warm and inviting. "I'm Uday, the village schoolteacher."
I blinked, somehow finding my voice. "Saudamini," I replied, the sound of my own name feeling strangely foreign on my lips, as if this moment was reshaping my very identity. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
"Saudamini," he repeated softly, almost as if savoring the syllables. His smile broadened, lighting up his entire face. "A beautiful name for a beautiful soul."
There was a sincerity in his voice that made my heart skip a beat. For a fleeting moment, nothing else mattered , not the children, not the village, not even the world beyond. It was just us, two souls that had found each other in this vast, timeless dance of fate.
His words brought a blush to my cheeks. "Thank you, Uday. The children seem to adore you."
"They are the future," he said, glancing fondly at the group of children who were now giggling and whispering to each other. "It's a privilege to guide them."
I looked around, taking in the idyllic scene. The village, nestled in the foothills, was surrounded by lush greenery. The small schoolhouse perched atop a nearby hill overlooked the village, its stone walls and sloping roof blending seamlessly with the natural landscape. The gentle breeze carried the scent of wildflowers and fresh earth, adding to the charm of the setting.
I felt a connection I hadn't expected. In this remote village, far from the life I once knew, I found myself drawn to Uday's kindness and passion for teaching. For the first time since my transmigration, I felt a sense of belonging and hope for what the future might hold. It was a confusing mix of emotions—relief, hope, and an unexpected hint of longing.
Get a grip, Damini, I scolded myself. I have more important things to do.
"Have a good day," I said abruptly, eager to escape before my emotions betrayed me.
"Saudamini, don't you remember me?" Uday asked with a twinkle in his eyes.
My bewildered expression must have amused him. His familiarity unsettled me.
"It has been many years. Do you still climb trees and steal mangoes?".
I didn't like this development. Panic began to rise within me.
"Bye," I said quickly, turning to leave.
"I will come to meet Vallabh uncle. Hey," he called after me.
I ran away, my heart pounding. I didn't want anybody to know that I was Saudamini. What if this was her relative?
"Damini, wait. Didn't you ask me to take this job? You promised to help."
His words stopped me in my tracks. My real name echoed in my mind, grounding me. I wanted him to speak to me, not the original Saudamini.
"Stay here," I said, trying to mask my confusion and panic with a calm facade.
"Of course, I will. Where would I go, leaving my in-law's kingdom?" I replied, attempting to sound composed.
"I will not go to Bombay or Miraj."
He seemed to want to say more but hesitated, perhaps thrown off by my lack of response.
"Let's meet tomorrow. I want to surprise Aunt Radha. Got to go before the kids make trouble," he said, his tone shifting back to the warm schoolteacher.
I watched him climb the hillock, my mind racing. Who was he, and why did he feel so familiar? His presence stirred memories and emotions I wasn't prepared to face. The sense of connection lingered, but with it came a troubling sense of vulnerability.
Who was he?
I met Raghu rushing barefoot towards school with a gunny bag slung over his shoulder. I caught him just in time.
"Where are you going? Come with me," I commanded, tugging his arm.
"No. Today is the first day of school," he whined, trying to break free.
"You're late. So come with me," I insisted, tightening my grip.
"Our king has ordered that all kids should attend school. The village head told my mother to send me," he protested.
"Fine. Go, but meet me tomorrow," I relented.
He made a pinky promised and darted off. The sun was high, and the sweltering heat was almost unbearable.
The narrow cobblestone streets were lined with mud houses, each painted in faded hues of ochre and indigo. The air was thick with the scent of marigolds from a nearby temple and the earthy aroma of rain-soaked soil.
As I walked past the grove where legends spoke of the banyan tree, its roots winding like ancient snakes, the village elders claimed that spirits lingered there. A pang of nostalgia hit me. I remembered visiting this place with Mummy, my real mother from another time. The vivid memory felt like a betrayal to the new life I was trying to live, yet the scent of mogra flowers brought tears to my eyes. The past and present were interweaving, tugging at me like unseen threads pulling my soul in different directions.
I climbed many stone stairs to reach the fort, built during the 10th century in the Vakataka dynasty. Since then, it had changed hands, and now nature had claimed it. From the top of the Burj, one could see the whole Palshett and the vast Arabian Sea beyond it. I remembered frolicking here with my cousins. Now everything felt empty. Watching the waves brought a rare sense of peace.
Back at home, Aunt Radha was leisurely enjoying her paan.
"Stay at home and don't wander around in the afternoon sun," she advised without looking up.
"We have a new school teacher," I announced, hoping to pique her interest.
"I knew the headmaster wouldn't hire you. You're too young. Who told you to skip grades?" she mocked Saudamini, her eyes gleaming with pride. But I wasn't as brilliant as the original Saudamini.
"Don't worry. The old witch will come this evening. Have lunch and find me later," she dismissed me. I had almost forgotten about the evening meeting. All I could think about was Uday, the handsome new teacher.
Evening came, and the lake was still, reflecting the orange sky. Surrounded by a lush orchard, the scent of ripening oranges permeated the air. I stood near the banks, as instructed by the old witch. The sand was soft beneath my feet, the very place where I had woken up as Saudamini. Were the Sati Asara devis watching me? They would be laughing their heads off.
This life was a gift from the goddesses, and I was determined to preserve it. The old witch handed me the ancient box Aunt Radha had given her. Inside, there was a gold sun pendant, stained with vermilion and turmeric.
Suddenly, darkness enveloped us, and the wind howled in my ears. The old witch began chanting, her voice rising above the storm.
"Help me, help me," a faint voice cried out. The old witch's chanting grew louder.
"Kala, leave this place. Go where you belong," the old witch roared.
The wind grew stronger, and a chill ran down my spine. I saw Samiksha, my dear friend. She looked bright, her face serene. We shared a wordless exchange, her soul comforting mine. I wanted to bask in that feeling forever. I knew she was with me.
"Saudamini, Saudamini!" Aunt Radha's screams pierced the night. She was holding a lamp and shouting something.
"Saudamini, throw that box in the lake!" she screamed. I obeyed, flinging it into the water.
"Come back," the old witch commanded.
As I drew near, she grabbed my hands. "Go back and pray for your aunt Kala."
With heavy feet, I returned home. I wanted to see Samiksha again. Wasn't she dead? What was she doing here?
"Mother, please keep everyone safe," I prayed to the Goddesses Sati Asara.
Samiksha had told me about the Sati Asara. In my family, we only worshipped gods, never demigods. The Sati Asaras were considered mere myths of water deities. She had even asked me to participate in her family's prayers. Was it just a coincidence?
The night was thick, and shadows loomed over the Rao Mansion. I knew Bhundi was still performing her rituals. Perhaps I should pray to Kuldevi and the Sati Asara. As the meditation deepened, I saw Samiksha in my mind. She wore a pink kurta and smirked at me. "Shouldn't you thank me? You're now richy rich."
A tear slid down my cheek. "Don't cry. This is coming to an end. We've been fighting for years," she said.
I tried to communicate, but she disappeared. I opened my eyes, but there was no time to think. It was still 2 p.m., and I had to pray for Bhundi's success.
I started chanting for the Sati Asara's blessings. The clock was ticking, and the surroundings slowly dissolved.
"Child, don't fret. We are always with you," a melodious voice stirred me, then dissolved into nothingness.
A series of heavy knocks broke my meditation. Someone was knocking on the door. My legs felt numb. The knocking ceased before I could gather my bearings. I glanced at the clock—it was 3:00 p.m. The temperature had dropped. Only one hour left before the Brahma Muhurta.
"Mini, Minitai," came Ramya's voice. What was she doing here? I chose not to respond. Aunt Radha had told me that tonight there would be no servants at home. I heard Ramya's footsteps retreating.
I decided to wait. Soon, Aunt Radha knocked on my door.
"It is done. Is everything well here?" she asked, looking tired. I whispered in her ear about Ramya and the mysterious knocking. She nodded and instructed me not to open the door until sunrise.