True Rising: Mark of the Defenders

by Tanishq Sheikh

  He presses me into the bed with his weight. He’s rough, careless and hard. He’s never been like this with me before. I’m suffocated as he climbs over me trapping my hands with his by the sides of my head. His colourless eyes mock me with punishing intentions. It holds promise of violence, cruelty and terror. I struggle against him, not to escape but as a plea. My need for him is unrelenting. My mouth falls open, my eyes glaze over as I push my head into the bed and rise up against him. I’m begging him with all that I have against my own wishes.

  No! No! Don’t do it, Ajaz! Don’t let him use you!

  Raati increases her power causing my breath to come in short, desperate pants. I’m willing to die for the pleasure only he can give me!

  A slow burn finds its way through my senses. I can feel Ajaz thread his fingers through mine. An unnamed power begins to surge through him, engulfing us completely. My eyes widen with shock. I can feel the stinging burn of the invisible rings and bracelets that bind us. Raati loses her grip over me and I manage to turn my head to see them glowing, rays of bright light emitting from them.

  Ajaz is gritting his teeth as if in pain. I stare at him wide eyed as he looms over me. The veins at his necks are standing, giving evidence of his internal battle. One by one as if by magic, inscriptions begin glowing throughout his body. They seem like symbols from an ancient Arabic script. They send out shards of light bathing us both in a supernatural glow. “Aaaarrggghhhhhh!” He roars like a beast possessed as the inscriptions throb from all angles, glowing bright before suddenly switching off and disappearing. He slumps over me covered in sweat. I wrap him in my arms. I can feel the trailing warmth from the inscriptions on his skin. I begin crying. He’s in pain because of me.

  The other occupants of the house are still sleeping. They have missed on the most remarkable battle of the Amarah in centuries. I’m sure no one has ever witnessed something like this before. I certainly haven’t. I’m just grateful to Ammi for giving us the protection we so urgently needed.

  Ajaz manages to lift off his weight to touch his forehead against mine. Even his hair is completely wet with the battle he’s had. He tries to calm his heavy breathing. “Baby, don’t cry.” He rolls on his back pulling me onto his chest. “I had no idea that was going to happen.” He begins laughing making me wonder if he’s delirious.

  I rise to lean over him, my own crying has subdued. I’m surprised by his light hearted reaction. “How is this possibly funny?”

  He’s chuckling full on. “I’m imagining what a shock the bugger had when I kicked him out of my body.” He convulses in waves of laughter letting me gape at him with my mouth open.

  I punch him with a pillow and he grabs me to lay kisses that manage to cajole me into a response. I’m so in love with this man. My very own superhero. If that doesn’t get a guy laid then I don’t know what will.

  Eighteen

  Look into the past.

  We narrate the brush we had with Raati and Firion to Ammi in the morning. For a while she doesn’t speak, her lips reading a ‘tazbih’ on prayer beads. When she’s done, she kisses the beads and touches them to her eyes.

  “These entities are more powerful than I estimated,” she says, worry lining her wrinkled face. She places a loving hand on Ajaz’s head. We both are seated at her feet, hoping for guidance. “You did well, Ajaz. In all my living years I’ve never known any human to do what you’ve done.”

  She places a hand on my head next. “My son’s love for you is pure, my child. He will do his best but I’m afraid you need to know more to ensure they do not return.”

  Ajaz and I have already discussed this. We know we need to look into my past and find a way to eliminate Raati and Firion forever.

  We leave Ajaz’s ancestral home two days later. We managed to beat the entities but still have no idea how to protect our unborn child. We have to seek answers without delay even though I would much rather enjoy every waking moment in that wonderful four poster bed with my handsome husband.

  Ammi has asked me to look in my past for answers and that’s where I’m headed. My father has passed on but my mother is still very much alive. She shifted out of Bombay after Dad. Now she lives in a small villa in a town on the outskirts of the city. Saumya still lives in Bombay and Leena is tucked away in London. We sisters haven’t met in long. Not that we miss each other. We’d rather be out of each other’s way.

  It occurred to me once that it is Sudha, my mother, who actually pitches us against each other. Sisters are supposed to be thick buddies. Mine are distrusting of each other, happier to indulge in a bitching session with Mummy dearest.

  Ajaz doesn’t know much about my family. He never spoke much about his and I wasn’t inclined to speak much about mine. He is of course familiar with Saumya and has at some point expressed his distaste for her. I cannot even begin to tell him what she thinks about him.

  I have called Sudha in advance. I don’t want to drop in unannounced with my husband and cause her an apoplexy. Although once she realises he belongs to another faith, she’s likely to have one anyway.

  Not once does she ask how I am doing. This is the first time we will be meeting after our mutual loss. I don’t think she cares.

  The house, she lives in, sits at the end of a silent street. The sun is setting as the cab drops us in front of its pretty lawn. It’s late June, the rains in this part start early, leaving the world drenched with sweet earthy smells and cold chills. An involuntary shiver runs through me. Ajaz immediately puts his arm around me, lending me his warmth.

  Sudha shows up shuffling to open the door after two rings. Light filters from behind her. I can’t see her clearly but I know she’s aged. It’s been more than a year since I last saw her.

  Her mouth is set in a non-committal line. She greets me with a simple nod. For a moment it looks like she’s not going to let me in but then she turns her back on me leaving the door open. It’s a reluctant welcome. I know Ajaz is uncomfortable to the tips of his hair but he keeps a straight face. He’s doing this for me.

  “What brings you here?” Sudha is direct to the point. She gives Ajaz a once over but refuses to acknowledge him.

  I struggle with my emotions. We both should be comforting each other but she wants none of that. She’s telling me her doors are closed for me, forever.

  “How are you, Mum?” I ask despite knowing she’s always hated me. That lets me justify my lack of affection for her.

  She ignores my question. In her heart she knows I really don’t care about her. She nods at Ajaz. “Why’d you bring your friend? I don’t like strangers in my house.”

  I squirm. Her statement brings back childhood memories. None of my friends were ever welcome to our house when she was around, except Nik. Saumya and Leena’s friends were all right but she regarded mine as low class, mannerless and scandalous. The memories annoy me. I’m an adult now. I don’t need her approval.

  “This is my husband, Mum, Ajaz.” I wait for the shock to register on her face. Instead it screws in blatant disgust. I stare at her appalled. Doesn’t she care even a tiny little bit for me? What kind of mother hates everything about her child?

  “Your husband is gone not even six months and you remarry?” The way she spits out the question makes me squirm. She should be happy someone loves me enough to take care of me.

  I know her behaviour doesn’t affect Ajaz but he feels my hurt. He’s standing close enough to give my hand a gentle squeeze. I can almost hear him say, “Remember why we’re here, baby.”

  I clear my throat, put on my care-a-damn attitude and flop down on an old couch. Mum’s furniture is from the 80s. In fact, it’s the same from our first one bed apartment in the suburbs of Bombay. I move absent fingers over the frayed material on the arm rest. The couch holds so many memories. Echoes of our laughter, tears and giggles.

  “I need some answers from you, Mum.”

  She glares at me with revulsion. “What makes you think I’m interested in giving you any?”

 
I can only stare at her in disbelief. What makes her hate me so much? Before I can interject something snarky, Ajaz butts in. “A life is at stake, Mrs. Sanghvi. If you can shed some light we hope we can find some way to save it.”

  “Who’s life?” Mum demands. The shocked look on her face is justified. She wasn’t expecting him to speak to her.

  Ajaz comes to stand next to me. He gives a gentle squeeze to my shoulders aware I will need his support. “Our unborn child.”

  My mother stares at me in shock. Her eyes say it all. She hates me more than ever before. Not only have I rendered myself impure by laying with a disbeliever but now I’m bringing that impurity into the world. She rises and turns away from me. I know she can’t even bear to look at me.

  The small home temple with all the deities is covered for the night but she still fidgets around it, making a pretence of dusting over it. I’m sure she’ll perform a cleansing ritual when we leave. “I don’t see what I have to do with this. There are no major medical ailments in your father’s or my bloodline. I have nothing more to say to you. Go away and never come back!”

  “Mum!” Anger takes hold of my senses. I can’t let her brush me off this time! I’ve had it with her standoffish behaviour with me! “I’m not bothered if you care for me or my husband or my unborn child! I don’t care if you never wish to see me again! But I need answers tonight and I’m not going to leave without them!”

  She spins around to glare at me. Waves of hatred spew from her murky eyes. She jerks her arm and points a finger towards the door. “Get out! You think you can come here and shout at me in my own house? You with your filthy blood! Get out this instance!”

  Instead of obeying her, I take a step towards her. She backs up in alarm to stand with her back pressed against the temple.

  “Prish,” Ajaz cautions me but he can’t stop me tonight. No one can.

  “I’ve got filthy blood? Am I not born from you? Are Saumya and Leena your true blood? Was I born in sin?” I demand answers with a rising pitch in voice till I’m shouting. “Answer me! Who am I? And don’t you dare try to lie! I saw you! I saw you and others around a board, chanting something, holding hands. I saw YOU! Does that have anything to do with me? Tell me!”

  Ajaz’s fingers on my shoulders apply gentle pressure to pull me back. He kisses the back of my head calming me down instantly. But I’m still glaring at my mother while she’s watching me in stunned silence.

  She begins to shake her head slowly. I know she is denying my existence. But I can’t just disappear even if she wishes. “I need to sit,” she announces and brushes past me to slump into an armchair. She sits hunched over, besieged by memories from long ago.

  After a while, her defeated eyes raise to look at me. I get the feeling it’s the first time in years that she’s actually seeing me. “What do you mean you saw? How could you possibly know?”

  Her admission creeps me out. After all that I’ve already endured and witnessed you’d think nothing can shock me. But this does. I slump onto the couch. Ajaz looks at both of us and takes a decision to high-tail out of the impending conversation. He knows Sudha and I have put our swords away and we’re safe from each other. With a silent nod of his head, he indicates he’s leaving the room. I don’t stop him as he lets himself out of the house. I’m not sure I want him to hear what Mum has to say.

  I sigh, leaning my head back to close my eyes. “Just tell me what happened before you had me, Mum. We both know you hate me.” I open my eyes to pin her with a challenging look. “I need to know why.”

  Sudha is aware I have her cornered. She has to tell me the truth. I’m not sure I’m prepared to hear it.

  ~ ~ ~

  “I got married to Prakash at the age of nineteen. It was an arranged marriage and I wasn’t aware till the wedding was upon us that he was a good twenty years older than me. I protested, wailed and begged my father but he refused to change his mind. Prakash was a good man and I had to get married to him like an obedient, dutiful daughter.

  “I bowed down to my father’s wishes but I could never suppress the dislike I harboured for my husband. I was young, beautiful and desirable and I was saddled with an aging husband. Prakash was the gentlest, loving and caring husband that a woman could wish for but to me he was soft, boring and predictable. I craved for a younger man’s attention and affection. There wasn’t anyone who had caught my eye and vice versa. After all where could I go searching for one?

  “My mundane life was being lived out in one corner of a sad, middle class part of the town. I wanted to go to parties, movies and outings but Prakash was busy working, trying to earn a decent living. His lovemaking was like him, boring. There was no spark, no passion, no release. He would spend himself in my unresponsive body and we would both turn away from each other. And yet I conceived and had my first child.

  “Saumya was special. She was adorable and won hearts wherever she went. I spent hours fussing over her, making her plaits, stitching her clothes, playing with her. She filled my heart with love like I had never felt before. But as my body matured, it began craving for something more. I had no idea what till I lay my eyes upon Partho Sangram.”

  Sudha hesitates. Her confession is aging her before my eyes. She closes her eyes and continues, “The Sangram family moved in the neighbourhood when Saumya was around two years old. I was twenty two and in the prime of my youth. My lush black hair fell to my buttocks, my once skinny body was lush and curvaceous, my dark eyes shone sharper, brighter with a teasing twinkle in them and my full, sensuous lips held sly promises.

  “I fell in love with Partho the day I lay eyes upon him. He was five to seven years older to me, well-built with an easy going personality and a caring attitude. That he was in love with his wife was as clear as day even though she was a small town girl. They were married longer than me but had no children yet.

  “We were good neighbours and spent a lot of time in each other’s homes. Partho loved to barbeque and we often had barbeque parties on the Sangrams’ open terrace. It was on one such occasion that I found myself standing close to Partho secluded from the others.

  “He commented how happy I looked.

  “Yes, I was! I was delighted! I had applied for my college degree study and a private college had accepted me. Married young, I had to leave my studies and was keen to complete them. I told him the reason and he congratulated me.

  “We were drinking wine. I was not in favour of alcohol but Prakash wanted me to engage in some social drinking as it made me look smart at his office parties.

  “A kebab sizzled at the grill and we both put our hands forth to turn it. Partho’s hand covered mine and I froze. Looking into his eyes, I could see his desire for me and I’m sure mine were reflecting the same.He rubbed his thumb over my hand before letting go.

  “It was a tiny moment but it was ours. It set a strange set of events in motion and neither of us realised we were part of a bigger plan.

  “It was next to impossible for us to meet alone but even through those occasional exchanges, our desire for each other grew. I justified it as love.

  “I began my studies at the University. Saumya was living with my mother for a while so that I could focus on my education.

  “I had chosen Mythology as my major. I loved the challenge of discovering the origins of various folklore, traditions and religions from around the world. In my younger days I had attended a traditional school with a strong base in religious studies that included the Vedas, Puranas and Upanishads. I often found myself delving further into details that led towards the darker side of mantras, tantras and yantras. My peers teased me. They said I wanted to be a witch. I suppose I did.

  “I found my studies into Mythology had given me access to a library with a great amount of resource. I often spent my days there, returning home by late evening, in time to cook dinner for Prakash. The wealth of knowledge sent exhilaration through my brains that had almost stagnated in the years after my marriage.

  “I poured over innume
rable books, devouring as much knowledge as I could. It was during one such binge searching for books in the aisles of the dusty college library that I came across an ancient text. Bound in deep, black leather, it was thick and heavy. The titling on top was golden lettering written in Sanskrit. I was lucky I could read and understand Sanskrit.

  “I turned it over in my hands running my fingers over the fine inscriptions written all over. They didn’t make sense to me. The only thing I understood was the title which read; Aghora Vedan – Knowledge of the Aghora.

  “The sanskrit term Aghora refers to the Southern face of Lord Shiva. The literal translation is ‘non-terrifying’ but it also expresses the terrific aspect of destruction of ignorance.

  “The ancient text sent shivers up my spine. Instinct told me the contents of this book were going to change my life forever. But it drew me like a moth to a flickering light. I checked the book out and took it home.