M I T H I L A,
MATA GARGI'S ASHRAM

SAUDAMINI'S POV

An eerie silence reigned over the inky black abyss.

The flame of the lamp sputtered, its light waning as the oil dwindled, Devi Gargi's ashrama was still, devoid of any rustle.

Sitting in my hut, beside my cot, I stared blankly at the letter clutched in my hands.

"Not again," I whispered, a lump forming in my throat.

I knew his words would be like icy fingers, tracing over wounds that would never heal. And with each word, I would feel the poison seeping into my veins.

And I was afraid to confront it.

This ashram had treated me well and I wasn't willing to break the fragile bubble of comfort I'd created here. My heart ached every time I had to open the letter, but I had little choice.

With trembling fingers, I traced the inscription on the seal. It was my father's signet ring.

Steeling myself, I broke that seal, The parchment crackled as I unfolded it, revealing my father's familiar handwriting.  My eyes scanned the first few lines, my lips pressing into a thin line as the familiar questions swam into view, blurring my vision.

“Veda,” it began. This name was always a cause of curiosity within me.  It wasn't a name anyone else used, and while I didn't dislike it, it felt...different. Perhaps it was a nickname, or maybe it held some special meaning for him. I wished I knew.

I continued reading, my breath catching slightly in my throat. I knew the questions that were coming, the ones that always left a sour taste in my mouth.

Why can’t he see how this hurts me?

A surge of annoyance swept over me as there it was again, the usual questions about the princesses: what were they learning, were they doing well? A familiar knot of distress tightened in my stomach.

Despite years of receiving these letters, I still had a hope inside me that perhaps, this time there would be a word of encouragement or a question about my own interests?

But as I continued reading, that hope began to dim. His words, though carefully chosen, were only conveying his subtle curiosity about the princesses' activities. Were they learning new skills? Were they excelling in their studies?

And am I learning from them?

"Not again," I whispered, a tear tracing down my cheek, as a wave of anger, hot and unwelcome, crashed through me.

Isn't the one who mends the warriors after battle just as important?

More tears welled up in my eyes, spilling over and tracing a glistening path down my face, a bitter laugh escaped my lips, breaking the silence of the room. The princesses. Always the princesses!

Why couldn't he see the value in what I learned? The knowledge that could mend a broken body and ease suffering? The knowledge that could save lives? But these were arguments I knew would fall on deaf ears.

The princesses are learning about weapons…

But isn't there a different kind of strength in saving a life, rather than taking one?

Folding the letter carefully, I placed it beside me.  Sleep wouldn't come easily tonight, with a sigh that shook my entire body, I sank back against the rough wall. Tonight, I would write back. Honestly. Truthfully.

Is the one who heals the wounds not a kind of victor too?

The final embers in the lamp sputtered and died, plunging my hut into darkness.  For a moment, I sat there, enveloped in the darkness. The letter felt heavier in my hand, mirroring the weight of his disappointment, though familiar, yet it never felt truly bearable.

The reason I like staying up so much is because during these quiet hours, the world sleeps, and no one expects anything from me. I could literally stare at the wall for hours with no consequences. I love the silence and calm, I truly do.

Stifling a sigh, I closed my eyes, and a wave of memory washed over me, transporting me back to a time far less forgiving…

Heat burned my skin, like a fire raging under my clothes. My limbs started feeling heavy, and a tiny whimper escaped my lips. How long had I been like this? Time blurred, each moment stretching into an eternity.

Suddenly, the creak of the door shattered the silence and a familiar face peeked into the grand room, but as soon as her eyes met mine, her expression morphed into worry.

"Saudamini?" It was our old helper, her voice full of concern.

She touched my forehead, her touch felt cool and gentle on my burning forehead. "My child! you're burning up!" Her voice hitched for a fleeting moment.

She immediately coaxed a lukewarm broth down my throat, which burned briefly against my parched throat. and then, a bitter pill.

"Sleep now, dear," the helper murmured,and her voice felt like a soothing balm. "The fever will pass." 

Oblivion was about to claim me, gratefully, like an escape from the inferno within.

But suddenly, a harsh voice, laced with fury, shattered my fragile peace. "Saudamini! Why are you sleeping at this ungodly hour?”

My eyes fluttered open, heavy and gritty.  There he stood, my father, his tall figure framed by the doorway, his normally stoic face was creased with annoyance

“I don't feel well, Father," I croaked, my voice barely a whisper, as a fresh wave of dizziness threatened to engulf me again.

"Don't feel well? What nonsense! Look at the Princesses, out playing like they should be. This is all a drama, just like always."  His words were like a whiplash, leaving welts on my already bruised spirit.

"They are not burning up, Father," I managed to speak.

He scoffed, a humorless sound that sent shivers down my spine. "Burning up? Don't be ridiculous. Get up now!”

Tears welled up in my eyes, hot and stinging.  "But—"

"No buts!" he roared, his voice echoing in the room.  "Do as I say!”

The old helper placed a restraining hand on his arm. "General," she pleaded, "the child is clearly unwell.”

He brushed her hand away dismissively. "She's always getting sick, Nothing serious, just another way to get attention." He spat, as his gaze met mine, cold and uncaring as always.

The familiar weight of shame settled in my gut. In his eyes, I was not a feverish child, but a disappointment.

He left

But those words will forever be lodged in my heart….

I opened my eyes, and the memory faded away like a smoke as tears traced a glistening path down my cheeks.

A faint ray of sunlight peeked through the window, announcing a new day. Soon, everyone would be awake. With a shaky breath, I sat up, the letter clutched tightly in my hand.

Wiping away the tears, I forced a smile onto my face. It was a practiced movement, a mask I'd worn for so long it felt almost natural. No one needed to see the struggle within me.

The sound of approaching footsteps startled me. I quickly rose from bed, smoothing my clothes and forcing my smile a little wider

And the new day begins.