failure. her mind knew only the heavy weight of failure pressing on her heart as her pink mottled hooves struck land. she had disobeyed her parivaar she had disobeyed the very devee-devataon. she had all but guaranteed that the Godess Kali would look unfavorably upon her people now. what life could be before her now? her world is blackness, as it always has been… but now there is no daee guardian to guide her, to keep her, as she had been raised with. she is alone, at the mercy of the Gods she was meant to be an oblation to. ruin would come to her, she is certain. varajakshi stumbles from the water, limbs shaking tremulously. she didn’t know how far she had come, only that when the moment came when she was supposed to stop, to relent, she couldn’t do it. she did not want Yama to take her from this world, despite all the preparations. how could it be right to will the heart that had been given to her by the same devee-devataon to stop? had she been offered because of her vision? it was another source of confusion… she was an imperfect offering despite all their excuses…. in the end it didn’t matter. her pink nostrils flare and her lip curls back slightly, drawing tenuous breaths and scenting the air around her. it was ripe with salt and the scent of unfamiliar beings, nothing familiar to her, but she had no choice but to press on. vara takes tiny steps, moving slowly up the shoreline. she would never survive here alone, she knows, but her heart strangles at the thought of calling out for help. how could she explain her treachery? how could she expect someone to help her after what she had done? perhaps Yama would still come for her after all, though it would certainly not bring any favor for her parivaar now. she manages to climb the gentle incline at the waters edge, moving her white stockinged legs with the utmost care. her body is dark with salt water and sweat now, brown almost, but as the sun dries her back it becomes the color of spilled blood on desert sand. while her curved ears strain to catch the sound of any who might harm or help her, her eyes glare out from her face uselessly, white as the kamal flower. slow tears start down her cheeks, staining them, as she considers what she might do, until finally a whimper spills from her white lips. “mainne avagya kee hai, mere devataon, lekin mujhe chhod do. mujhe kuchh paree bhej do” |