The servant follows the Master.

****

Small ragged gasps escaped Kalikacharan's mouth. The hand of Mrinjay was grasping at his throat, leaving him without air. He clawed at his son's fingers and used the last bit of strength to scream for help.

"You know you won't die like this. You are a vampire after all." Mrinjay watched with wry amusement the pale skin of his father turning bluish. Kalikacharan's face took on a sickening colour. His lungs ached and eyes bulged out. Finally, Mrinjay let go of him. "You are not going to die so easily, Baba. You will have to suffer."

Kalikacharan fell on the bed and coughed. Blood splattered on his hands as he struggled to breathe. The marks of nails were drawn on his neck. "You are doing it wrong."

Mrinjay slapped his father. Kalikacharan's spectacles flew to the floor, the glass cracking like his ego.

"Mrinjay, I am your Baba," Kalikacharan reminded in vain. "Remember that."

"Neither could you be the Baba of Raktim nor me." Hot tears streamed down Mrinjay's pallid cheeks. He fumed, ears red in raw wrath. "Let me tell you what you did- you gave up Raktim because he became our curse and the living reminder of your failure. You kept him away half out of despise and half out of care, never committing to one feeling. You threw him away like a rug and then pitied him. You declared him a bastard in a second and then sacrificed your whole family to protect that petty worthless life!"

"Mrinjay, please understand-"

"I am not finished, Baba," Mrinjay hissed. "As of us, you never truly loved me and Manihar. Maybe you had a soft corner for Abhinoy as he resembled your Maa, but that's it. You used us, moulded us as you desired. You yearned to see us walk as demons just to ensure that the damage caused by your love affair didn't make us weak. But it was never out of love. You were selfish. You wanted to be known as a true vampire who was monstrous enough to kill his own wife." Mrinjay banged his fist on the table. "You only loved Raktim. You knew all along that it was him who was killing your legitimate sons, and yet you allowed him to. You spared your accursed child and spat on the ones who, for you, killed their own mother."

"I wanted to live!" Kalikacharan protested. "You know women don't have any value in our culture. Why are you so sad because of your mother? She was here to give me sons and rear them. She did her duty and left."

"Well, if that's the case, why did you fast upon the death of Binodini? She was a mere human, Baba. She was way below us."

Kalikacharan whipped his head side to side. "Stop it! You don't understand love. You never loved."

"I loved my mother."

"Then why did you behead her? Just because I asked you to?"

"I wouldn't have been living if I didn't do it. I was spared by Raktabeej because I carried out the sacrifice."

"Well, absolutely!" Kalikacharan scoffed. "You did it to survive. I have also done things to survive."

"I have suffered long after that night, Baba. I have turned into a heartless being since. Now, it won't hurt me to hurt you." Mrinjay growled under his breath. "The death of mother is the price I paid in advance to kill you, Baba."

"You will regret it."

"You know you are going to die now, Baba. You killed my mother and brothers just because of that rascal Raktim."

"I will gladly die," Kalikacharan declared tartly. Sweat gleamed on his forehead. His heart beats raced against time. "I did nothing wrong. Nothing."

"Then by killing Raktim, I will also be committing no sin. Instead, I will give my brothers justice."

A knock at the door, and a cursing Mrinjay was out of his father's bedroom. Outside, Ram waited for him. "She has come to meet you," the servant said.

Mrinjay adjusted his collar and strode towards the door. Ritabhari waited there, shivering from the tip of her hair to her toe. The glare from her master intensified her fear. "You look angry, Mrinjay Babu."

"Things are getting out of my hand."

"I will help as much as I can."

In her life as a devadasi, the love of a man was a dream unrealistic. Bodily pleasures were an enigma untouchable. Through Mrinjay, she could live some of her fantasies, although she knew there was no true affection from his side. He was a lustful vampire who could snap her head any moment, severe her limbs from her body. But Ritabhari didn't know any other man in her life- if she had, she forgot them now, so long ago were the attractions- and since Mrinjay was the only one, she tried everything to be in his shade, under the grace of his mercy.

A flickering hatred had sprouted in her heart after the death of Kamala. She pressed her hand to her chest, a pang erupting in her bosom. "What can I do?"

"I called you because it's urgent, or else I wouldn't have troubled you. Thing is, there are certain tasks which only you can do. If I try them, I am sure it will be a mess."

"I am at your service."

"I am going to do the ritual tonight. The next sacrifice must be tended to. You know who it is."

And again, Ritabhari was in a dilemma of doing what was right and what was wrong. At last, she decided to do what was best for her. "I know. I will bring her to the forest, but as you know, I need the help of Ram."

"I will send him-" A cacophonous shriek bursted the eardrums of the plotting duo. It was the scream of Mrinmoyee. "What is happening?"

"Is...is she in labor?"

The two ran up the stairs and reached Mrinmoyee. True enough, she was wriggling on the floor like a worm, a pool of water staining her saree. She clutched her belly and rolled on the ground. With exhausted red eyes, she saw Mrinjay in the corner of her blurry vision. "I-I am going to give birth."

Ritabhari helped Mrinmoyee get up and lay on the bed, even though the former scrunched her nose at the contact. The arresting accomplice of Mrinjay observed the reaction, but nevertheless helped the wife of the man with whom she shared her body.

Mrinjay smacked his head against the wall. "You had to go into labor now? Can't you hold it in?"

"I-I," Mrinmoyee breathed heavily, "am sorry. Sorry."

"I will ask Khirodh and Piya to help you here. It's not possible for me to stay, I have work to do."

"You...you won't be with me?"

"I can't!" Mrinjay shouted. "I have better things to do. And make sure it's a son, or else you don't need to show me your face."

Mrinmoyee yanked away her hand from Ritabhari's grip. "Fine. Ask Piya and Khirodh to come." She panted between her words. "I will bring a son, I promise."

"Good for you. Ritabhari, let's leave. Arrangements have to be made for so much. Help me out."

Mrinmoyee watched her husband leave hand-in-hand with another woman. Ritabhari looked back once at her, pity whirling in her beautiful eyes. This dancer was bestowed with a fragile beauty, like a forbidden fruit. And the man Mrinmoyee's husband was, he would sleep with every other woman but her. When he slept with her, it was solely with the intention of impregnating her. Mrinmoyee was just the bearer of his child. Well, that was what she was reduced to now.

Soon, Khirodh and Piya were in the room with water, rags and other necessities. They helped her get out of her saree and rubbed her feet and belly with oil. They stood beside her like comrades.

Out of the blue, Mrinmoyee asked, "Piya, when was the last time he slept with you?"

Piya was massaging her feet. Shook by her words, Piya whispered, "He was drunk. I escaped."

"So you don't love him?"

"I have repeated it to you multiple times- I don't love anyone. I am incapable of loving."

Mrinmoyee chuckled, but her laughter was put on hold when a contraction kicked in. "I am slowly becoming incapable of loving too."

"You cannot. We are here. All three of us- victims of men sticking together to survive."

"And say, I birth a second one?"

"He will have your blood too. Pray he takes on you."

Piya's words soothed Mrinmoyee. He didn't know where her husband had gone. Perhaps to have sex with that dancer. Many a times she heard them enjoying while she took a round of the house. It made her wince.

Mrinmoyee didn't know if the baby would be a boy or a girl, but she hoped the child wouldn't turn out a reflection of its father. If it did, it would be her biggest failure as a mother. She carried it in her womb for nine months and she ought to have the first right over it.

And as the wind cackled and her pain rose up, she asked Kalika to put an end to this torture that her husband was.

****

When Maya came back to the Das mansion, it was evening and lonely. No sign of life was in the house. She crept to her room like a ghost. She imagined hearing someone's moans, but her courage had dwindled so much that she didn't want to venture out. Her mind was blocked with thoughts too, so she tried to focus on the least bit possible.

Pouring herself a glass of water, Maya vowed to be on alert whole night. Anything could happen. Things were on a boil.

"Memsaheb?"

It was Ram. She faked a smile and welcomed him in. He was carrying a tray of rice and sambar. "The others have gone to sleep early today. I don't know why."

"Really?" Maya was surprised.

Ram shrugged. "Yes. So I brought dinner for you here." He kept the tray on the table. "I know things are not going well, and I can't help you, memsaheb. But I thought of cooking something special for you. I don't know if you like sambar, but I hope it will bring a smile to your face."

"Thank you." Maya took the bowl and smelled. "Seems delicious." She sipped the stew. "Indeed, it's wonderful."

Ram bowed and went outside the room. Maya wanted to eat quickly, but halfway through the food, her mind felt dizzy.

"Is my head spinning?"

She could see everything in pairs. Two beds. Two windows. Two tables. Colours became dull and spiralled around her. The numbing at the back of her head increased. Darkness engulfed her eyes. She stretched out her hand for help, and fainted.

Slowly, Ram came inside the room with ropes and gags and did what was to be done.