ONC 2022 Longlist / Top 25 The Historical Award 2022 & 2023 hosted by @HistoricalFiction / Featured by multiple profiles
In the tyrannical kingdom of Aratta, a young widowed mother returns alive from the den of a mysterious king where women go only...
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"Take him to her."
I lean on the wall, quietly listening to their whispers.
"Why? Does he want to go?" Vivasvat asks.
"Maybe the only thing he desires for earnestly."
I chuckle. Sitara and Vivasvat continue talking for a while after which she leaves the two of us alone.
"I know your ears are sharp and keen. So I will be direct– are you coming or not?"
"Even if you don't come along, I will reach her on my own."
"I will come with you, but if you need some lone time with her, I shall be at a distance."
Arrangements are made. Nowadays, the women roam around unveiled, smiling and playing despite knowing the danger is lurking somewhere. They probably are enjoying their last days.
Why can't I? Or do they celebrate the onset of freedom? Maybe Sitara has told them all about the cure but didn't think enlightening me would be necessary.
We mount on our respective horses and set off for the foot of Aravalli Hills. There rests my Alexandria, sleeping soundly in peace.
Time passes. Sand dunes come and go, trees slowly vanish as silence dwells in this part of Aratta. Before dusk we reach our destination.
The place is in chaos. Dilapidated sheds, bones and stones are scattered all around. It isn't exactly what a peaceful cemetery should look like, but Alexandria had to be put in this most disgusting place out of all. When all royals get a decent burial, she was dumped here.
Yet she is a lotus. She will bloom.
"Go on, I will stay behind."
I respect Vivasvat for giving me this space. Alexandria is his niece, his blood, yet it's me who gets to be closer to her.
Maybe that's love. I could never be a worthy companion, but I aced being a brother, did I not?
I kneel down before the little wildflower. Beneath that bed of soil rests the coffin.
"I hope I am not disturbing you."
It's just the whistling of the breeze that comes to my ears. I look around carefully– Vivasvat isn't around. I am left alone with the hubris of the past.
My hands reach out of their own accord, feeling the moist soil, scratching it like a child. The petrichor wafts to my nose, soothing my soul, agitating old memories.
