You don't need a reason to love.

****

Soon after the news spread of Mrinjay's death, horror shrouded Khatra. Kalikacharan Babu's body was found in the room of his late father Benoy Das. The inhabitants of the mansion, especially Khirodh, said she had heard the voice of her mother Radha Devi. She didn't dare to open the door to that room.

In the morning, Kalikacharan lay in a pool of blood, the silver dagger protruding from his stomach.

"Maa came to take you..." Khirodh murmured under her breath. Raktim, to the shock of all the villagers, performed the last rites of Kalikacharan Das, and even went bald as traditions demanded.

Now, Mrinmoyee was the unofficial lady of Khatra, the sole leader of the zamindari in this aftermath. She assembled the villagers in a meeting, then told them about the very raw, unadulterated truth of their existence- the vampirism in their blood, the adultery of Kalikacharan Das, and the sacrificial murders of the girls carried on by the men of her family. At the end of explaining whole of the history, she asked for forgiveness, which, for the love of Raktim, the villagers granted.

Some pitied the doctor, but more than sympathy they felt a cold anger towards the Das. Even if Raktim would remain a son of Kalikacharan, he would still be their benevolent doctor Raktim Roy.

Mrinmoyee declared him to be the official heir to the zamindari. Khatra tasted the nectar of bliss. With open arms the decision was accepted. Raktim, whether he wanted to or not, had to give in to the wishes of his men, who would now be his subjects.

Healing was a slow process but inevitable. The women of the Das family were now able to eat food like normal humans, live and breathe like the most beautiful creation of God. Death was something they could now think of, a bittersweet companion of mortality that promised eternal reciprocation of immortality. Eleven days later the shradhha of Kalikacharan Das was performed by Raktim. At the end, the bastard lived to do the duties of the perfect son.

"Kopaler likhon," Raktim whispered as tears flooded his eyes. "I was shunned all my life, and yet, even after being so undeserving and ugly, I get to enjoy this vast richness and wealth."

"A king cannot stray away from his responsibilities." Maya, now of a better health and recovered from the shock, stood beside Raktim as a loyal friend. "You will have to look after them."

"Gold will burn my skin, Maya. I am not meant for such a luxurious life."

"To the true Chandrasekhara, gold and ashes are equivalent. Whatever life offers, you wholeheartedly accept."

Mohini had told Maya about Raktim's encounter with Kalika. The holy event elevated Raktim's status in the eyes of the common folk. However, to Maya, he remained undifferentiated from his past self. There wasn't anything extraordinarily special about him, although she wished she could see the goddess too.

Maybe she would see Kalika through his eyes.

"I am going to leave tomorrow. The bus is going to depart at six in the morning," Maya informed. It would have been a utter lie if she denied not feeling her voice shake. She refused to acknowledge the pain in her bosom, but it only increased it tenfold. "Will you come to drop me at the station?"

"I will. I would have, even if you didn't ask."

Maya smiled. She felt guilty of looking into his eyes. Her life and work was such that she couldn't promise to be here, at his side, forever. Destiny demanded her to climb higher, and she also couldn't force Raktim to leave Khatra. He had to be the father figure to these people who dearly loved him. Raktim couldn't abandon them.

The day finally came. Early in the morning, the whole of Khatra came to bid her goodbye at the bus station. People from nearby villages who were going to board the bus too listened to Maya's story. To the humble crowd, Maya was like a blessing from the Divine, a saviour of the mass. She was who acted as a catalyst in bringing justice.

With tears in their eyes, Khatra saw Maya leave. Even the baby in Mrinmoyee's arms mewled softly, the new mother and his beloved aunts singing to him lullabies to brighten up his mood. The baby, named Mayavan after the detective, had come to see her as a part of the Das family, no different from them. Strangely enough, the child had ochre brown eyes, something which made Maya cry in solitude. This time, Maya would be a guardian, not a victim. Such was the play of fate.

Mohini, like the strong girl she was, tried to gulp back the tears. Life wanted her to be harder and mightier. She had lost her father, and now was separating from a woman she looked up as an older sister.

Moving on was the only choice Mohini had. Much like Piya, who was glad to do it after finding out one morning that Ram had not returned to the house. She didn't even try to search for her husband. Like her mistress Mrinmoyee was liberated from the clutches of Mrinjay, she too was now free from the bondages of a man who couldn't ever protect her dignity.

Maya watched the trees and hills run behind her, going farther and farther away as the bus paced up. Rolling wheels, swaying trees and chasing clouds... Memories flashed by in a matter of seconds. Beside her sat Raktim. Perhaps this would be the last time she spent with him.

They could have had a chance together, in some alternate universe. But Raktim now had so many people to look after, and she had a career, how could they compromise their goals to be with each other? And then, he was a dhampir still, so would her parents even accept such a man?

Was she ready?

It would have been too selfish to ask Raktim to accompany her to Calcutta. She respected him too much to put him through such a torture.

During the bus ride, they didn't exchange a word. In silence they ate snacks, counted time and hummed melodies. Finally they reached the station. The train was already in the platform, so Maya boarded it. Raktim waited just outside.

Maya touched his palm through the opening of the window. A jolt of passion coursed through his veins and heat rushed to his warm cheeks.

"I will miss you," she said. "Call me sometimes, when you are free." She gave him a folded paper. "Here, this is my number. I have got a telephone at my home so it won't be a problem."

That piece of paper was the costliest thing Raktim ever knew, more than the gold chain that swung around his neck. "You will slowly forget me."

Maya dig her nails into his knuckles. "You won't taunt me."

"I am not putting salt on your wounds. It's not my intention. I am just stating what's practical. You will forget me, and that's the best you can do." Raktim entwined his fingers with hers. "The worst you can do is remember me."

"Raktim-"

"I know what I am. You know it too. As much as I..." He choked on his feelings, tongue feeling as heavy as iron and as dry as a creased autumn leaf. "As much as I have feelings for you, I understand it's illogical for me to expect you to return it."

Maya shut her eyes and exhaled. "I guess I am not ready. Neither to see you away nor to pull you at my side."

Raktim chortled, the clinking tune of tears chiming in his charming voice. "I understand. Women are impossible creatures. You surprise your own self everyday."

The train whistled. Just like it had once in Devipuram.

Maya held onto his hand as the train began moving. He walked along with the gentle pace of it, knowing he would have to let her go soon. Only a few more seconds, and Maya would be out from his sight. Maybe from his life too.

"Remember me, Raktim. I am your first."

"Am I yours?"

Heartache- that was the most appropriate word to describe the twisting and wriggling pain she felt. It burnt her chest and made her want to scream.

"You may not be entirely my first," Maya slowly began to retract her hand as the train began taking up speed, "but you will be the best. The best that life snatched away."

Maya didn't have the time to wipe the tears from Raktim's face. His lips puckered like baby's, ready to shatter and beg for a change.

Thus, the Omnipresent One concludes: It is truly a tragedy when mature minds constitute the core of hopelessly romantic souls. They know how to love immensely, but they cannot prove it.

Maya cried all the way back to Calcutta. Raktim mourned his first heartbreak.

Yet, the All-Knower asks, is it true that the most wonderful love stories remain incomplete? Or do they ever get a chance at fulfillment?

It would only be a matter of time for these two butterflies to cure out of this sweet, pleasurable disease. Their broken, fragile wings would heal and grow anew. Time waits for none. It is worse than cruel Death.

But sometimes, love can be so stubborn that it shocks even the wielders of destiny.

"Wait for me, Maya." Raktim flew a kiss to the sky.

Word count: 1586 words

Kopaler likhon: kopal means forehead and likhon means a piece of writing, and this phrase is used to refer to what's already decided by destiny

One more chapter left guys, one more chapter.... And an author's note too.

Hold on to hope...

Any ending thoughts, messages, feelings from your side?