RUDRA POV
My wish was granted, and perhaps a little too soon. Barely an hour had passed since the shocking revelation of our family's history. I was still lost in thought, trailing behind Grandma as she led the way. The distant sounds of a skirmish pierced my reverie. As we drew closer, the noise grew more distinct—the clang of steel on steel, the sharp thwack of impacts. Soon, we emerged into a large, inhabited clearing. I scanned the area for the source of the commotion and was stunned by what I saw.
Seven well-built teenagers, all looking to be between sixteen and eighteen, were locked in combat. Their opponent was an old woman, who seemed a few years older than my grandmother. Despite being nearly sixty, my grandmother looked barely forty. But this woman, this opponent, was something else. She was mercilessly pummeling the boys, sending them sprawling to the ground over and over again.
I'm sure the boys weren't bad fighters. Any one of them could probably take on two or three of me without breaking a sweat. But this old woman was on another level. She moved with an impossible speed, as if her aging was fuel instead of an anchor.
I winced as she uppercut one of the boys with her dhaal (shield), then followed up with a sharp kick to his cheek. All the while, she deflected two talwars (swords) with the one she held. She was a goddess of war, a living whirlwind of combat. I knew with absolute certainty that if she ever came at me, I wouldn't even try to fight back. Not that I could put up a fight even if I tried. The drill ended when all seven boys lay defeated, this time for good.
She dismissed them with a wave of her hand and turned toward us. Her gaze landed on my grandmother.
"Shanti. What breeze stirred you from your nest today?"
"Can't I just visit you maa(mother), or is that no longer allowed in this forest?" Grandma's tone was light, but there was a knowing edge to it, a subtle challenge.
The word, 'maa,' lingered, a stone dropped in a placid pond.
My mind short-circuited. Maa means mother. Mother + Grandmother = Great-Grandmother. But a great-grandmother should be long dead. This woman was very much alive. The math wasn't adding up.
The old woman dismissed the topic with a wave. "Enough of that. Who's the boy?" Her eyes, sharp and ancient, settled on me.
"Your great-grandson." Grandma's voice was quiet now.
Her great-grandson? She's really my great-grandmother? How old is she? My mind reeled.
A flicker of recognition crossed the old woman's face. "Rakesh's son? How is the rascal?" She began to unstrap her talwar and dhaal, her movements smooth and practiced.
"He and his wife… they passed away four years ago."
The words hung in the air. The old woman's hands stilled, a sword halfway to its sheath. She turned to face Grandma, the casual warmth gone from her expression. "Four years. And you kept this from me?"
The air in the clearing seemed to thicken, heavy and cold with an unseen pressure. It was like something intangible was pressing down on us, making it hard to breathe. My lungs struggled for air as if a stone had been placed on my chest.
"Stop it, Mother!" Grandma shouted.
The suffocating feeling vanished as if a spell had been broken. My great-grandmother took a deep breath, her straight back slumping slightly. "I apologize for losing my composure. But you should have told me. How did they die?"
"The police said he was hit by a stray bullet during a gang fight," Grandma explained.
"That turtle. I knew his slowness would get him killed someday," my great-grandmother muttered under her breath.
Grandma remained silent. My great-grandmother's gaze flickered between me and my grandmother. She nodded, and my grandmother, understanding the unspoken signal, told me to wait outside while they entered a nearby room.
Shanti's POV
Seeing the thoughtful expression on my mother's face and her cursing her own grandson, I knew she wanted to talk alone. I gave her a look, a subtle signal, and she nodded, gesturing toward a room.
I couldn't delay it any longer. I told Rudra to wait right where he was and followed her in.
She closed the door, the sound a definitive finality. She didn't shout. She just stood there, her presence a weight in the small room. "Talk."
"What do you want to know?" I responded, my voice carefully neutral.
"Everything," she said, her eyes never leaving mine. "And don't bother with that stray bullet lie."
Of course she knows. I'd always felt like a child under her scrutiny, and now nearly a century of experience was focused on me.
"How did you know it was a lie?" I challenged. "With your grandson's pathetic reaction speed, it's an entirely plausible scenario to die by a stray bullet and drag his wife along."
"It is precisely because I know him that I understand it's a lie," she explained, her voice low and sharp. "You forget, my daughter, that I trained him. It was I who deemed him unfit for combat, but that didn't mean I taught him nothing. I taught him how to survive by avoiding danger and planning ahead. Despite his lack of physical prowess and his careless nature, my grandson was quite smart. His mind was his shield"
"While it pains me to admit that him dying from a stray bullet was a plausible scenario, the chance of that happening with his wife nearby is impossible. He could die alone, but he would never allow such a risk with his wife present. So, TALK."
As I once again felt her gaze boring though me I recognised the futility if trying to hide things from her and as much as I hated to admit it, she understood Rakesh's capabilities better than I did. She didn't need a single clue; she just knew.
"I went to the crime scene myself to investigate," I started, choosing my words with care. "The bullet wounds, the casings, the signs of a gang war—everything matched the police report like it was a masterpiece of misdirection—it was all there, a perfect picture of a gang war."
"But?" My mother's single word was a blade's edge, her patience a force.
"But Rakesh didn't die at the scene. He died a full street away. And the so-called 'gang war' was a slaughterhouse of gunfire. The walls, the pavement of the street all showed signs of intense gunfire. In a conflict like that, in a confined space, how many casualties would you expect?"
She didn't hesitate. "The streets would run red with them."
""Exactly! I thought so too. But when I checked the police records... the official death toll was five. Five, Mother. Two were my family. No gang affiliations involved in the 'gang-war' were ever mentioned. And the injured? Seven hospitalized, only two with bullet wounds. It was a lie. A carefully crafted, bloodless lie to cover a murder." The words tumbled out, each one a release of years of pent-up pain
"And you let them get away with it?!" The quiet fury I'd come to expect from her was gone, replaced by a sudden, dangerous fire.
"I had no choice!" I shouted, the volume shocking even myself.
"They vanished like smoke. They covered their tracks so well the police saw only what they wanted them to see. I had no one, no connections. I had to step away for Rudra, to protect the only thing I had left." I gestured toward the door, my voice dropping to an urgent plea. "You've seen his kundli (life chart), haven't you? You know what I'm talking about."
The mention of the life chart was a key that unlocked a different kind of silence. Her rage, a storm of fire, began to recede, replaced by a deep, unsettling stillness.
"Yes," she said, her voice a near whisper.
"But I've never seen anything like it. I don't know what's coming for the world that a fate like his has been written." Her gaze drifted, no longer focused on me, but on some distant, terrible future. With that, she let the matter of Rakesh's death drop, leaving a void of unspoken grief behind.