Rescued- A Kittya_Cullen FF. Note: Pg 85 - Page 59

Originally posted by: Shashi1984

Hey! I want that you continue this story. I loved this FF very much. So plz continue it if u can...

Chapter One

Madhya Pradesh, India

Sunday, July 15, 2007

She walked along the river, looking lost, and scared. The ends of her dupatta^[1] twirled around her, momentarily hiding her dazed eyes, before returning to their dance with the wind. Her long hair was unruly; appearing dull, and unwashed. Its longest strands trailed behind her with an apathetic air, brushing past her hips gently. A few shorter strands clung to her face, held there by a drying trail of tears--though one fresh tear quivered near her jaw, until it tumbled down to darken her pale, pink anarkali, when she attempted to draw a breath.

The swell of her abdomen was noticeable beneath the folds of the anarkali churidar^[2]. Against the paleness of the fluttering cloth, it was only another indulgent curve, not quite worth a glance in the ebb, and flow, of the approaching sunset. Still, for those who did stare, the mangalsutra^[3] hanging around her neck, and the faded dye of the sindoor^[4] in her maang^[5], dispelled any errant thoughts about it. Content, most averted their gaze, their steps unfaltering.

Those with a compassionate heart may have paused, unsure whether, or not, to approach her drooping shoulders, and frozen face, but the taste of despair which her figure lent to the air, served to make that final decision for them, as they resolutely walked along their merry way--for while her bare feet touched the water, hinting at her intent, the population of the river bank became sparser.

*

Water lapped gently against her ankles, dampening the crumpled folds of her churidar^[6]. Her toes sank into the mud, and sand, unaware of anything--beyond the feeling of the sand's grains chafing their skin; and though she waded, inch by inch, toward her unseen objective, there was no change in her expression; no flicker of thought behind her eyes, as the water licked its way up her shins. Her dupatta slowed its movements, floating beneath the water's surface. Its ends swirled freely around her knees, and her fingers seemed to caress the water, as her feet moved steadily forward.

Step

by

step,

carried the water

higher and higher,

covering her breasts.

The water crept unerringly up her face, but she remained indifferent. She watched its trek toward her lips, then her nose, passively--her eyes sharing nothing when the last tendrils finally rose to blur her vision. The world around her rose, and fell, in muted silence, and the ground beneath her feet slipped away.

It was somewhere there, in the relative throes of weightlessness, that she felt something at last.

Relief.

She was free. None of it mattered anymore.

Strangely, no pleasure filled her at the thought, but the lightness of her relief loosened her limbs, and slackened the numbness that had taken a place in her chest. She stared at the sky through the translucent river, relaxing into the pull of the currents.

The clouds racing by, uninhibited, caught her attention--

They were

light

painless

free

She was tempted to open her mouth

make the journey of death come faster

but

she thought

of the clouds

The need to breathe grew, her chest contracting in distress, but she remained unmindful: her fingers curled around the beads of the mangalsutra twisting about her neck. It was only one lucid moment later, when her lungs really began to burn in their craving, that a thought struck her with painful alacrity. An unfamiliar ache crept out from within her chest, and worked its way through her gut.

There was a purpose for her beating heart.

She did have a reason to breathe.

Panic set in.

She turned frantically, searching for the sky, but only the bottom of the river gaped at her, its hidden maw stretched wide to accept her. No!, she wanted to scream. No! Instead, she saved her breath, searching for a way up. She thrashed her arms about, becoming hopelessly entangled in her clothing. Her legs flailed uselessly, and the curtain of her hair floated eerily, strands grasping at her neck, encircling her wrists. The chain of her mangalsutra tightened painfully around her throat; the river's currents strengthened; their pull disoriented her beneath the red glow of the water; the shadows in the river deepened, and the water shifted, becoming a flow of murk that seemed to hold her beneath the river.

There was water everywhere. Above her. Beneath her. Around her. Soon, it would be within her. Her decision had been too late. She was going to die. Her child was going to die because of her. Her limbs were leaden. Detached. She needed the air.

Bhagwan, bachao! Bachao! [7]Please! Help!

Spasms rippled through her chest, trying to force a breath. The impulse pulled at her reserves, pounded in her head. There were only seconds left. She could not waste them.

Mera bachcha, mujhe maaf karde. Maaf karde, mera laadla^[8], she whispered in her mind.

Then, she gave in, and gasped.

Chapter Two

Jabalpur, Madhya Pradesh, India

Sunday, July 15, 2007

Yash looked up from his position on the riverbank. Something had pierced the noise in his head. He surveyed the empty river, surprised at how quickly everyone had left; even the usual medley of fishermen's boats, and crossing vessels were absent. He ran his eyes over the trees, and the riverbanks.

Nothing.

Satisfied, but uneasy, Yash returned his attention to the pital^[1] urn in his hand. Small traces of ash still remained within its confines.

He had finally found the strength to release her ashes. It had been the perfect day. The heat had been mild, its intensity lessened by a passing zephyr, and the clouds had drifted gently, decorating blue skies. It had been her kind of day. Yash smiled unconsciously.

He was not sure what had brought him to this place specifically. Perhaps, it had been the need to feel as close to her as possible, for one last time. This place held memories for him, for them, in its comforting lap, and even now, his lips tingled, teased by a phantom sensation:

her soft fingers pressed against his lips, his eyes peering into hers,

waiting...

He shook his head, and looked out at the water before him, allowing the nostalgia to fade.

A glimpse of motion far out on the river's surface, caught his attention, and pushed the last of it away. He watched the spot intently, the wind picking up around him. The material of his white kurta[2], flapped in the wind, stinging the skin of his abdomen. He ignored it, waiting, his brows quirking in uncertainty. His unease crept back in, twisting his stomach, and he leaned toward the river, watching the water more closely. The river rolled by, its surface calm in the shifting light, but his feet moved of their own accord, his skin prickling with an uncomfortable anticipation.

The water's surface rippled unnaturally, but settled. A cloud broke apart, brightening the river temporarily, and the water glittered. Then, something broke the rippling mirror of the river's surface. He jerked forward instantly.

*

The first touch of the water was sobering. Little light filtered down, and the rush of the currents below the surface, maintained a continuous curtain of silt. He twisted, and turned, searching tirelessly in the murk, making his way forward. His lungs cried out as he pushed himself harder, begging him to resurface for a few seconds. He refused, and swam harder, fighting against the tug of the world beneath the river. He was getting nearer to the centre of the river; he could feel it. The pull of the river was powerful, asking more from his body than he'd given in years. He clenched his jaw grimly, fighting the wave of fear slowly gripping his stomach. Too long, and...An image of the urn he had been holding earlier, filled his mind. He swam faster.

I won't fail you. Where are--

Cloth brushed past his skin, and he reached for the material. It slipped between his fingers, and a plastic bag captured his fingers instead. He grasped at the loose cloth again, but there was nothing attached to it.

Come on. Come on. Plea--

He collided with a soft, cloth-covered object, and almost gasped. The dark silhouette of a body floated before him, outlined in red against the light of the sky above them. He reached out, pulling its lifeless hand toward him, and swam for the surface.

His lungs pulsed angrily in his chest, but he fought the desire to breathe, promised himself a fresh breath for every second that brought them closer to the surface. There was no way they would make it before his body gave out, before his lungs betrayed him, he knew: his head was light, not entirely his own anymore, and black spots that did not belong to the river, swam across his vision. No way, no way, his brain sang to him, but still he pushed on. He puffed his cheeks out, and deflated them, trying desperately to recycle what little air he had left. It worked for only a minute before he gasped for a breath in reflex, and inhaled a mouthful of water.

In seconds, he was drowning. He could not stop trying to breathe; could not avoid the water rushing into his nose, filling his lungs. His grasp on the arm in his hand slackened. Nahin! Please! Not this time! He begged silently. Please, Bhagwan--

Suddenly, there was a moment of incarnadine sky above them, and their bodies broke the surface.

**

Time had ceased to matter to him. The world around them was painted red, and crimson kissed his fingers each time they left the water, but he paid the water dripping from his fingers, no mind. Exhaustion tugged at him, whispering for his limbs to stop moving completely; to take a rest. He considered the idea, and then, pushed the thought aside. His movements were growing slower, choppy. The hand he had wrapped around the person rested there numbly, and the wicked cruelty of cramps climbed along his hands, and thighs. They were too far away. They would not make it back. His hand failed to clear the water, and he sank a little, spluttering. He tried harder, pushing past the fatigue, and it lifted slightly, before falling limply into the water. He let his feet stop moving, and...he hit something.

"Zameen[3]! Zameen, he croaked wearily.

His sock-covered feet slid over the edges of the riverbank, and he lay there, shaking with relief. At last, when he could feel his breath returning to him, he rolled over, and dragged them both away from the water, inching up to the driest sand.

He forced himself to his knees, and froze. A woman lay beside him, hair spread out around her in tangled clumps. He pulled her hair away from her face, and observed her carefully, searching for any signs of life. Her lips were blue, the rest of her skin bloodless, and pale. There was a pronounced curve to her belly; its navel, distended.

She was pregnant.

His breath left him in a rush of fear, and he stared at her, unsure.

"Kya karun[4]? Kya, Bhagwan?

He hesitated, hanging above her in discomfort. Could he...Her face blurred beneath his gaze, and his mind teetered on the edge of blackness. He pulled himself back, and the feeling faded. He could.

An uncomfortable roiling filled his stomach as he adjusted her head, and leaned down. He covered her mouth with his, pinching her nostrils, and breathed air into her lungs. He leaned back, and checked for movement, but there was none. What if...What if...I... "Nahin...nahin...breathe, please, breathe, he muttered to himself. He breathed into her mouth again, willing a response from her body, but still nothing happened. He ran a hand through his hair, and looked down at her.

In the startling clarity of that moment, every detail stood out; the cracks appearing along her lips as the wind dried their skins, the barely visible line of a thin cut across the bridge of her nose, and worst of all, the unchanging colour of her lips. They were still blue; a dark, nearly midnight blue that resembled bruises.

He placed a finger beneath her nose, in search of a breath of air. A familiar terror gripped him, the kind he had banished to those nightmares no one knew about. It seemed to take over his very soul, as he readjusted her body, and began a cycle of CPR in earnest. His own breaths were harsh in his ears, mocking him, while his heart pounded away as he prayed for the water to leave her lungs. Fatigue crept through his arms, slowing his efforts. He pushed through it, waiting for some sign from her lifeless figure.

"One. Two. Three. Four... The wet, choked coughs of her breaths filled the air. He pulled away quickly.

He turned her over, supporting her shaking body. She retched beside him, struggling for breath between coughs. As he watched her, the acrid taste of an old memory pushed against his barriers. The gurgling terror of a locked throat filled his ears, and set his heart to racing faster. He suppressed it, concentrating on the woman in front of him.

She was alive.

He had managed to save her.

Yash sat back on his haunches, satisfied. A thread of elation rose through him slowly, bringing all the world to his senses. The flames of the setting sun painted their wet, exhausted bodies in vivid hues, and he smiled into them.

Chapter Three

Her saasur-ji's voice rose above the din of the blaring horns around him. "Remind her to have her Ashu visit that client from Delhi. He's been calling us non-stop about our last batch.

"She can hear you, Ji. Kaisii hai, beta? Koi back pain? You stayed off your feet, hai na? You remember what the doctor said about...about last year.

She bit her lip guiltily. The morning dew clung to her skin, and the bag resting beside her on the stair. Beneath her wrinkled clothing, the chill of the damp concrete seeped into her body. She'd made it back before them, the sun only now rising, but the cramps that now inched across her lower back, and abdomen, every few minutes, still remained as proof of her trip. "I'm fine, Ma. Ashu has been taking good care of me. Her mangalsutra flashed in the increasing sunlight, shaking at the hollow of her throat.

"Achcha. We should call Suha--

Boom.

Her heart stopped in her chest. It had almost sounded like a bomb had gone off on the other end of the phone. In the silence that followed, the strangest thing occurred: birds chirping through the usually dense urban noise. Then, the horns of cars rose to a new, hysterical level. Her brain caught up to the noise on the other end, and the sound of glass shattering as metal screamed, sang to her. It played on, staying in her ear like the ragas she had once learned to play, and dance to. She dropped the phone, scrambling to her knees on the verandah stairs, screaming for him. Her shins scraped against the concrete stairs, and a small part of her knew the material of her churidar would be ruined as well. She paid neither issue any mind, forcing herself to her feet. The door swung open, shaken by the force of her fists, and the strain of her body using it for support. She paused at the doorway, his name trapped in her throat. There was something odd about the room laid out before her. She could feel it in her gut. It dawned on her slowly, the chill of the damp concrete beneath her soles, settling into her stomach in an ugly thing. She stared into the house, her kangans clanging oddly when her body listed left, arms rattling the loose bolts of the open door.

Black, and yellow circles sailed across her vision. Her nostrils, and throat felt seared, and her lungs ached, but at least there was the relief of cool air flowing into her again. Nausea filled her, and she leaned over abruptly, vomiting more muddy water; then, she shoved her wet hair away from her face. She breathed deeply as the last of the retching spell left.

She was alive. Her child was live. There was air in her lungs, and she could feel land beneath her.

The relief that flowed through her was heady, and left her shaking nearly as strongly as the ordeal had, but there was something else that still felt wrong. She had had the saddest dream before waking up on the muddy ground. There had been something about concrete stairs, and kangans[1] she no longer saw on her hands.

She rested her hand upon what was surely dirt, confusion swirling within her, and swiped at her hair once more. She stared at the dirt, wheezing, while her lungs sought their fill of air, and tried to recall the dream.

The images had been vague, surrounded by the cacophony of breaking glass, and singing birds.

She looked at her empty wrists, and she was suddenly filled with an immense sadness. With her hand to the ground, and the kangans missing from her wrists, the loss felt deeper, greater...far bigger than a fading memory, and missing jewellery.

She shuddered, and leaned back slowly, trying to catch her bearings.

How...How had she gotten back onto the riverbank when all that she could recall, were darkness, and suffocation? She glanced around cautiously, as an irrational thought ran through her mind. Was she, was she dead after all? The flap of wet clothing distracted her, and she turned to the sound.

The unmoving figure of a man a few feet from her, pulled her gaze further to the right. The wind whipped around them, beating his clothes roughly, but he showed no signs of feeling it. She, on the other hand...She looked down at her skin, and rubbed her hands over the wet sleeves of her clothing. Her breaths staggered in her throat, still struggling to find a full, and easy rhythm, while her teeth chattered painfully. She grasped at her arms, trying to warm her body.

Wasn't he cold?

The wind strengthened for a brief second, pulling at their hair, and she said nothing, only watched him. As she took in the sight of him, the last fragments of her dream faded, and where there had been the agony of breaking glass, there was now, only the whip of the wind in her ears.

He remained there, staring into the sunset, while the last of its light bathed them in crimson, violet, and orange. It dyed him a strange, burnished bronze, darkening his skin, and his once-white pyjama kurta^[2] sat comfortably on his straight shoulders, glowing red.

He looks like...a murti, so still, she thought. Their eyes met, and the thought fled. The wind stopped completely, and not even the rush of the river could be heard. Shadows deepened the curves of his face, and she held his gaze, taking in the shadow of sorrow that radiated from his eyes. It worked its way across his face in a thin-lipped, constipated expression, and her heart ached, as if she could feel the very depth of it. He looked away, and the sound resumed around her immediately. Her lips mouthed the words unconsciously, and she, too, turned to look at the sun. Was that how she looked? Broken, and alo--

She let the thoughts go when a more frightening one crossed her mind.

Her fingers slid over the rise of her abdomen, panicky, and quick, as she pressed them to her belly lightly, tracing the curve of it.

Her child was still there.

She smiled gratefully at the man, and as if he could feel her eyes on him, he turned toward her.

Worry added more shadows to the lines of his face. He squinted at her in concern, rising hurriedly.

Perplexed, she glanced down at herself. What was it?

No...what was that?

Frightened, she clutched at her clothing, eyes desperately returning to his sombre face in an unvoiced plea. Cold-sweat broke out along her forehead, and neck, making its presence known despite the chill. A cramp danced wildly up her back, and across her belly. No, no, no. Please, no.

She struggled to her feet, lightheaded, and nauseous. The previously subtle noises around them, pounded in her head, and she bit back a tide of vomit, afraid of drowning in her own mess. The sand rushed up to meet her unfocused gaze, and she wrapped an arm around her belly instinctively.

She fell, and fell, and fell, the drop unending in her head.

Chapter Four

Yash's arm was warm, and growing warmer where her blood seeped through her clothing. The rest of his body shivered, unprotected in the cool wind beneath the wet cloth of his pyjama kurta. His wrist was soaked, and disturbingly coated, where blood ran down his arm. He pushed the sensations away, but nausea rolled through him all the same. He turned his mind to other thoughts.

How far had they drifted down the river?

He eyed the land around them, listening carefully. He could not hear the traffic from their location. A startling thought crossed his mind, and his heart stuttered briefly.

If they had drifted too far, they would not be able to find his car.

He glanced around him, searching for a familiar landmark. There were only shadows, and fading light in sight. He held the woman closer, and stumbled forward. Blood continued to warm his skin, as he walked, pushing old nightmares to the surface. He tried not to think about them. To him, that would not happen--not again.

He bit his tongue, forcing his thoughts to stay present, and wove carefully between the uneven ground, bare-footed, searching for the path that would lead them to the roadway. The woman in his arms mumbled, and a name that sounded disturbingly like his own--Ashu?, interrupted the quiet evening air. He flinched, and quickened his pace, but something slipped through anyway--

"Yashu! Yash! What's happening?

He avoided her gaze, speaking into the radio instead. "Hello? We're having trouble out here. Can you--

"Yashu?

"Grab this-- Something smashed into his side, and the snap of broken bone pierced the chaos of the enclosed space. Outside, the sky, and clouds, whipped by in a crazed blur. The force of gravity pushed him into his seat, and made it difficult to breathe.

His breaths were a harsh gasp that refused to capture enough air, torturing him through the climb. He pushed harder, until the noise of traffic was clear in his ears, paying his lungs no mind.

Beside him, she screamed. Everything was still for a second, and the push of gravity released them, he reached for her hand, squeezing it tightly, and--

He cleared the last of the sloping ground, his bare feet padding against the steps built into the side of the earthen barrier. A littered dirt path appeared in the disappearing light, and he walked on rapidly. A piece of glass cut his foot, but he did not notice it. The path wound on, and on, and he muttered "Bhagwan[1], save her like an ancient mantra, increasing his pace. The embankment disappeared behind them, and he sprinted across a stony walkway, but he could not stop saying the words. Bhagwan--

He couldn't breathe. She couldn't breathe. He could hear her beside him, the gentle gurgle of water bubbling up within her throat--

--save her. His eyes honed in on the road a few feet away from him, and he sighed in relief. Familiar road signs, and shops surrounded him. In the twilight, he read the one closest to him, seeking his bearings. Traffic whizzed past unconcernedly while he stood there, quivering, willing his car to appear before him. Ignoring the impassive stares of a few onlookers, he paced back, and forth. God-damn it! Where had he left it?

The noise of the traffic slowed to muted chaos as he glanced at the woman in his arms anxiously, then helplessly spun around.

Breathe. Breathe. Please, breathe.

A flash of familiar red caught his eyes, partially hidden behind a double-parked yellow lorry. He ran through the traffic unthinkingly, and halted at the front passenger door of his car. He rifled through his pockets, searching for the keys.

Deep at the bottom of a pants' pocket, he brushed past something metal. He wrapped a hand around it, and leaned weakly against the car, trying not to drop her, or the metal. He pulled it out in the dark, willing the ridges to match the lock of the car. With a soft creak, the door swung open, and he smiled grimly in gratitude to the gods.

The smile slipped away.

He had felt the same way when she had finally breathed. His gratitude had not lasted long after.

He set the thought aside, and hurried over to the driver's side. The car hummed to life around them, and he drove into the traffic manically, dodging shocked pedestrians. Through the thick glass of his car's windows, he heard the irate horns of the vehicles around him. His barefoot increased the pressure on the gas pedal, bloody fingers pounding away at the horn. The usual throng of errant cyclists fled from the path of his oncoming car, and even as they moved, he swerved around a tranquil white cow. The vehicle glided seamlessly through city streets, the echo of bells ringing in his ears. For a moment, he glanced at the woman's pale face under the glow of one of the streetlights. The gas pedal hit the floor of its own accord, and the vehicle surged through the streets.

It was perhaps an hour, or maybe only fifteen minutes later, that he drove into the compound of a hospital. There, he disentangled her from the confines of the car, and lifted her out. He rushed toward the bright glow of the lit doorway, and carried her to the front desk, shouting for someone to take her to the doctor. A few people looked up, then returned to their own matters.

A receptionist spoke nervously on a phone, using words his frenzied mind could not understand. Everything was dull, and slow. Difficult to understand. He pushed against the feeling, and called out. "Help! Help us, please! She's bleeding.

He waited in agitation. Frustration built within him, and--

He was trapped, tugging at the belts where they had become a twisted collection of metal, and cloth. Beside him, her own efforts slowed...eased to a soft, occasional glug--

Pointless, dangerous memory, he thought in anger. Why couldn't he remember the good ones? He forced it away, and said aloud, "I'm Yash Scindia. Please, get someone here now. We can afford to pay whatever the costs are.

A nurse rushed toward him, pushing an empty gurney. Other emergency professionals arrived, taking her from his grasp. They worked quickly on her, speeding off.

He stood there bare-footed, and lost. When had that happened? He stared at his muddy feet, filthy, and bloody where a gash lay, but felt no pain. He could only feel her blood on his clothing. He looked at it clinging to his skin, staining his hands. A surge of pain rushed through him, causing his head to spin from a memory.

No, not now. Not now, Yash.

He suppressed the memory, hurrying after the disappearing white-clad figures, but the gurgle of water remained with him all night.

Chapter Five

Sunday Night

She was dimly aware that she was cold, and wet, but little else registered. Around her, she could feel the frenzied energy of other people. There was little sense to the things that they were saying, and if it weren't for the odd feeling that she had done this before, there might have been panic at the foggy impressions their hands left on her body.

Her eyes blinked open blearily, drifting into, and out of focus, as they tried to track the movements of the figures in white masks, and flowing gowns.

"Prep her, and bring her. Check with Anil on which O.R. is free. She's possibly haemorrhaging, or at risk for it. Mohini, page Dr Jayaraman, and Dr Rarewerde. They should still be on call tonight, a woman said.

Haemo...haemorrhaging. She had heard that word before. She was sure of it. Even as the realisation sunk into her fatigued consciousness, a strike of pain seared across her lower abdomen, and back, and her limbs went numb temporarily. A pained grunt was all that escaped her mouth, tongue too heavy to move. Her teeth ground together harshly, sharp pain shooting into her head until the cramp passed.

"Jaldi karun, Iqbal. Bring up two bags of O-neg to start, but get a sample from her before you go. Mohit, grab me the ultrasound machine.

Feeling returned to her body, and she felt it distinctly: the pooling of a warm, wet fluid between her thighs, and under her. It was all so familiar. She reached for the memory as the voices, and faces around her drifted back into darkness.

Someone lifted the hem of her anarkali, and pressed gloved hands across her abdomen. "I'm seeing hypertonicity, and there may be some tenderness. She grunted as another cramp streaked through her system, fiercer than the last. "Possible tetanic behaviour. Suspected placental abruption. Tell Rarewerde, and Jayaraman to hurry.

Hands shifted her, wrapping something around her belly.

"Foetal monitor in place, ultrasound here. Looking, and there are two of them, possibly. One looks to be in distress, Dr Balasubramanian.

She blinked back up at them, and the surface she was on, jolted harshly.

"Watch it you bakras. Start the line for a drip, and let's reserve theatre three. Anil said it was free. Has someone paged the anaesthesiologist in case we need to go in?

A light hit her eyes, and she tried to turn her head away from its source.

"Pupils are dilated, skin clammy, and... there was a moment of stillness, "pulse is accelerated. Hook her up to the monitors, and get me the rest of her vitals. It looks like she's going into shock.

"Dr Balasubramanian, you paged? Dr Rarewerde is on her way down. She was finishing up with another case, a man said.

"Dr Jayaraman. Good. Can someone go get the man she came in with? See if we can get her history.

Her vision cleared for a second, and she saw the man, and the woman leaning in toward each other. The low murmur of their voices registered in her ear slightly, just as she turned her head, overwhelmed by nausea.

"Rachana...on my way down, I heard the one she came in with had connections. Mind what you do, thiik hain? he muttered quietly.

Their words were meaningless to her as a clamp of pain streaked across her body, and her stomach voided itself in reaction. The memory tugging at the edges of her consciousness finally surfaced past the fog. It hit her harshly, and her pain seemed to intensify in response. She breathed out a choked sob, slipping into the memory--

"F--k! Damn it! Damn, you, and your reckless stubbornness!

"Prash--

--and lost their voices altogether. She tried to speak, but--

Her words disappeared behind a breathless shriek as pain ripped through her.

--the breadth of the pain expanded. She heaved drily, desperately wanting a basin so that there would be no mess to clean up; no one's anger to stave off.

Her knees were bruised where she had hit the uneven wood floor, but it was her back that made it difficult to breath. It felt like something was clawing its way through, and ripping out the bottom of her womb, while it was at it. "Aaah! She screamed longer, and higher.

She struggled through another breath, groaning in anguish. Her mouth filled rapidly, and the pain ceased for a moment. Her stomach clenched sharply, and she vomited, passing into absolute darkness.

"F--k. Ma! Ma! Come quickly! Bau-ji[1]! He turned toward her, and his face twisted into a mask of anger, and disgust. "Stupid. You should have stayed downstairs with Ma after making that mess with the chai. Damn you. Why did you follow me up here when I told you to leave me alone? He ran a hand through his hair, and grabbed a sheet from the bed. He opened it out, and folded it over, walking back toward her. They both stopped breathing when his shoes squished queerly on the carpet. She looked down.

There was a growing puddle of blood spreading past her knees.

She gasped in shock, and then it was replaced by a pained, breathless gasp as a particularly cruel cramp ripped across her lower back, and abdomen. He wrapped the sheet around her, and pull her up into his arms. She curled into him, and her tears soaked his shirt where she buried her face. She could feel the tension in his shoulders, and with her ear near his chest, the rapid beat of his heart pounded loudly in her ear. It was oddly comforting, reassuring even, that in this moment, they were together in their fear.

"Ma! Am-ma? Amma? Kahaan hain aap[2]? Please ask Achen[3] to call the ambulance. Quickly! His voice reverberated in her ear, painfully there in the cage of his chest, but she lost it when her next scream covered it, and his heartbeat.

She caught a glimpse of his mother gaping at them, her hands clasping helplessly at her mouth.

She reached for her, wanting to calm the mother she had grown accustomed to, but another searing pain blazed through her, and she whimpered in a low keen. Her vision darkened in the flash of pain, but through the haze of it, she saw his mother eye him strangely. He shouted at his mother, his words hurried, and frustrated, but she lost the words in the haze.

Sirens blared loudly, and the scent of antiseptic filled her nostrils. The frantic movements of the ambulance attendants did nothing to distract her from the pain. She heaved beneath the mask, overwhelmed by a cramp, and tried to curl up on the shaking bed. He squeezed her hand, and she groaned in pain, temporarily distracted by the strength of his grip.

His face was a sweaty, shifting blur over the top of her mask. The rancid odour of stress sweat came off in waves, and drops of perspiration dripped from his hair onto her face. The scent worsened the nausea that had woken her up, and she retched. An attendant reached for the mask, turning her face, and she lost her breakfast in the bowl they propped beneath her chin. As someone leaned to wipe her face, he whispered in her ear.

"Tell them nothing. Samjha tum[4]? Kuch nahin!

She nodded, feeling another wave of nausea hit her at the act, and tried to squeeze his hand back in reassurance.

"God. I don't hate you. It's just... His eyes were soft, regretful; surprisingly brown, and beautiful in the morning light. "Why? Why did you have to follow me, Cholly? He tightened his hold on her hand, and she winced, trying to pull it away. He bowed his head, mumbling against their joined hands. "Why the f--k did we even move here?

Her vision darkened as another wave of pain hit her, and she screamed. He shifted, and she cringed, but he did nothing. When her vision cleared, and she caught his eyes, she saw only anger.

"Ashu--

"Don't call me that.

She nodded, and when the last wave of pain hit her, the wet warmth of the blood soaking her legs left her with a broken, jagged ache, that somehow filled her with calm.

Chapter Six

A curved mirror hung above his head, spotted, and smudged. In it, his reflection stared back at him, a garish, despondent thing with bloody hands. He eyed it listlessly, and waited. He could see the rest of the waiting room from that angle; the crowd of bowed heads, and blank stares waiting to be acknowledged. The nurse from earlier eyed him with concern, muttering under her breath to the person beside her. They glanced at him together, and he frowned, looking away. Someone rushed past him, heading toward them, and his gaze returned to the mirror.

They gestured animatedly, appearing to ask questions. Yash leaned his head to the side, eyebrows raising when the nurse at the desk pointed towards him. They all turned to look at him, and Yash rolled his eyes. He was not unaccustomed to being viewed like a creature on display, but their actions were particularly irritating.

He stilled when the newcomer began to walk towards him, appearing larger, and closer in the mirror above his head. He waited, inclining his head in the direction of their approaching footsteps.

"Hello? Mr. Scindia?

He turned, capturing the second they took in his appearance in full. He was conscious of how unsightly he must have looked; barefooted, bloody, and glassy-eyed, if the reflective surfaces were anything to go by. "Haan. Scindia. Yash Scindia.

"I...was hoping that we could get some more information, sir. There is nothing on the forms, and the nurse mentioned that you haven't spoken to anyone since madam was taken inside.

Yash rubbed his face, exhausted, forgetting that his hands were covered in a congealed, flaking mess. The doctor made a sound at the back of their throat, looking slightly disgusted.

"I can show you to a room where you can wash your hands, and face. They looked Yash over, and blanched at the bloody cut they could see peeking out from beneath his dirty foot. "Let's also have the wound taken care of before it becomes infected. I don't think we should leave that unattended for too long here.

They both looked at the waiting room, and Yash nodded, trying not to think of all that he had exposed himself to.

"This way, sir.

They walked along the corridors quickly, while the doctor flipped a few pages on the clipboard in hand.

"There is nothing here?

Yash glanced across at the doctor, eyebrows raised in confusion. "Kya matlab?

"The forms, and records that need to be filled out are nearly all empty...

"Haan, Yash answered blankly.

"We are running tests, and we may need to take madam up to the OR. Do you know if she is allergic to anything? What her blood type is? Do you have any idea about her previous medical history? Also, sir, what is madam's name? Her age? Address?

"Mujhe nahin pata. Yash cleared his throat, and sighed. "I only found her. I don't know anything about her.

"Found her? Kahaan? Kaisi?

"Near the river, after she...had fainted. He looked down, feeling uncomfortable with the deception. "I was there for a personal matter, and I noticed her. I drove her here once I realised she was...bl He watched his hands, feeling the walls of his empty stomach shift in nausea. "Bleeding.

"Please go on in, the doctor said, pointing to an empty room. I will be right back, after I update my seniors. This makes things more difficult, but I am sure we will sort everything out.

Yash walked into the room, and looked around him. The area was bland, and cold. No different from any other hospital room he had been in. He swallowed with some difficulty, trying not to think of the last time he had been near one, and instead, moved towards the sink.

The water in the sink ran red when he turned it on, and pushed his hands beneath the pipe. He stood there looking at it, until it was nearly impossible for him to breathe. He couldn't stay here. He couldn't handle this. It was too much, too soon. He needed to get out.

He splashed water across his face, and scrubbed his skin with a near cruel intensity. It glowed back at him, pink, and clean, save for flakes he had yet to get out from beneath his nails. He was unsure of how long he stood there, scrubbing his hands, and face, until the door slammed shut.

"Sir! Be careful.

Yash startled, pulling himself together. He stepped back from the sink, hands, and hair dripping; his face stung near his forehead where he had rubbed too hard.

The doctor watched him with worry, and handed him a pile of clean scrubs, and booties. "These are for you, so that you can shower, and change if you want to. When you're finished, I will be out in the hallway. I will examine the cut on your foot after.

"Thank you, Dr...?

"Krishna. Krishna Manohar Soman. Dr Krishna is fine. They smiled at Yash kindly, and some of the panicked energy that had begun to eat at him, eased.

"Thank you, Dr Krishna.

Yash gathered up the things, and moved toward the bathroom as the doctor left the room. He found a pair of disposable slippers between the pile, and slipped them on before heading into the tiled room. Then, he made quick work of his bath, scouring his skin until he felt clean. He patted himself dry with some of the disposable tissue available, and then got dressed.

He opened the door, and walked out into the corridor. "Dr Krishna?

Krishna looked up, and nodded, pulling away from a conversation with a nurse. They signed something, and exchanged folders. Krishna smiled at the nurse, then waved Yash forward, as the nurse nodded in greeting at both of them, then left.

"Sab thiik ho jayga?

Krishna smiled reassuringly, but their expression was grim. "It wasn't about madam. There's another patient the seniors have me monitoring. We have some concerns about him, but nothing that I can talk about.

He turned away, and glanced up the hallway, unsure of what to do with himself, or what to say. Krishna saved him, gesturing towards the direction they had come from.

"We will need to go this way. I can check the wound, perform any sutures if needed, and give you a round of antibiotics to ward against an infection. I am surprised you're not feeling any pain.

Yash stared at his feet, cloaked in the medical booties. There might have been pain, Yash thought, but he could not feel anything. He didn't know how to explain that sometimes he was so distant from his body, it was as if it did not exist. It moved. It breathed. It touched things, and moved through spaces, but it was like doing so through a fog that clouded even the sound of his own voice.

He became so lost in the thoughts of the fog, that it startled him when he found himself seated on an examination table, with Krishna across the room sorting through instruments. Anger simmered beneath his skin, and he clenched his hands in response. Every time he thought he was getting better, there was something to remind him that he was wrong. He would never be able to--

The sound of styrofoam cracking distracted him, and he looked down at his clenched fists. There was a cup in one hand, and the outline of a tab of medication in the other. On his tongue he could feel the texture of the medication, stuck there. He lifted the cup to his hand, and drank from it. The water rinsed most of the taste away, but the texture remained there, leaving him irritably conscious of it within his mouth. Krishna turned from the tray in front of them, and began to remove their gloves.

"You are all set, Mr. Scindia. Just remember to drink those, until they have all run out, and you will be fine.

"Thank you--, Yash attempted to say, but his stomach recoiled in rebellion at whatever he had ingested. He lurched toward the nearby sink, and heaved, but nothing came up.

Krishna moved toward him quickly. "Kya hua? Let me see.

Yash shook his head, and finally, water, and the discoloured residue of the medication pushed themselves passed his throat. His stomach heaved once more for good measure, and he spat into the sink to clear his mouth. He lifted the damaged cup to his lips, grateful that it had survived his actions, and used it rinse his mouth. With a shaking hand, he turned the pipe on, and washed his face, letting the water run.

He threw the cup into the rubbish bin beneath the sink, and turned to face Krishna.

"When was the last time you ate, Mr. Scindia? If you haven't eaten in some time, these will usually leave you nauseated.

Yash tried to recall his last meal, but his mind pulled nothing from the contents of his memory. He frowned. His mind was very good at recalling the things he didn't want to remember, but the things he needed to...

His stomach rumbled before he could respond, and Krishna shook their head in irritation.

"I specifically told you to only take those if you had eaten recently. Challo, Mr. Scindia. I'm heading off my shift. I can show you to the small dhaba near the mandir. It works in your favour that you weren't able to keep it down, kyunki mirchi, aur doodh will result in the same reaction from your body.

"Maaf kijiye, doctor. Woh...

Krishna shook their head in disapproval, and returned to the tray. They threw away the gloves, and used items, leaving the medical instruments that needed to be sterilised in a separate container. Yash walked towards the door, pulling it open.

"Ek minute, Mr. Scindia. Put these on over the booties.

Yash looked up to see a pair of slippers. He slipped them on, and pushed on through the door. Krishna was quiet beside him. The quiet remained even as they sat on the charpais near the dhaba, waiting for their orders. Yash eyed the juice in his hand, sipping from it sceptically. He rarely ate from roadside restaurants.

The noise around the dhaba was loud, but comfortable. Traffic rushed by a few feet away, and groups of people laughed, talking loudly with each other. It was reassuring after the air of the hospital. Here, it was lively, and colourful, even with the evening deepening. Their movements, and chatter settled into his skin, pulling him away from the fog that had threatened to drown him earlier. He relaxed, taking another sip from his glass, and leaned his head back.

"It's why I come here.

"Kya?

"It's why I come here. This...feeling, of being near life. After the weight of the hospital, the tense silences, the...desolation. It feels like I can finally breathe being here. I like to look at the people, and see them being happy. Even the ones who come here from the hospital, waiting on their families...they look less like they expect all of the bad things in the world to happen to them. It's--

"Freeing. Yash looked out across the street, and leaned his head, listening to the bells of the mandir ringing. "It's like something lifts, knowing that the world is still going, and happiness is still out there. There are things to keep hoping for, because somewhere, there are people for whom everything is all right, aur shayad, shayad, it will be so for you, too.

Krishna smiled, and sipped from their lassi. Yash stood, draining his juice.

"Kya hua?

"Kuch nahin. I will be back. He put the glass down, and walked towards the mandir across the street. The crowd was light, given the time, but the mandir was bright, and full of life. He took his slippers, and booties off. The courtyard was immaculate, and beautifully kept despite its nearness to the constant flow of people. It was cool against his feet, and the cut on his foot ached when he placed weight on it. He smiled softly, walking towards the standpipe in the lower courtyard, and washed his hands, face, and feet. Then, he walked up the concrete steps, stopping to touch them, and bring his hand to his heart. He rang the bell hanging above his head.

The sound of the clanging soothed him, and he stood there, head bowed. He rang it again, listening to the heavy sound reverberate in the temple. He moved closer until he was right before the deity, and looked up. The form of Ganesha sat benign, and welcoming, staring out towards the city behind Yash. He felt warmth spread through his chest, as the world faded away, and he stared up at the murti. It was like holding his mother's hand as a child, staring up from beside her, with the fragrance of agrabati wafting over his head, and surrounding them.

Ganpati-baba...

No other words would come. He hadn't brought any offerings, but there was a puja ki thaali filled with fresh flowers, resting at the base of the murti. He pulled a handful from the thaali, and showered the deity with some. He bowed his head, and clasped his hands, waiting.

The noise of others entering drifted in, and drifted out, but he paid them little mind. He was content to stand there longer, heedless of the noise. He almost did, but he heard it. Ghungroos.

He turned, looking behind for the source of the sound. A group of young dancers entered, breathless, and happy. They carried a trophy between them, and he shifted so that they could all have greater access at once. The chimes of their ghungroos sparked a memory, a dim one.

A splash of colour whirled in front of them, a man, and woman, dancing in synchrony upon the stage. The chimes of their ghungroos were like jewels in the air, fresh, and sparkling. The woman stopped abruptly, her long plait slipping loose from the bun her hair had been in, but she didn't seem to notice it, forming the mudras to accompany her partner's movements. Her feet hit the boards of the stage with a rhythm for her partner that seemed to reverberate through the structure, and then, they both stilled. They grinned at each other, and he nodded, then she let loose in forms that seemed to fly across the stage.

"They're very good, aren't they, jaanu?

He turned to the seat beside him, and--

The clang of the bell broke him out of his reverie, and Yash looked up, stunned. The dancers were all gone. His heart beat rapidly in his chest, and his skin sparked with the intensity of the dance. He knew her. He knew her. He shook his head, frowning. Or at least knew of her, he mused. He, and...her...they had seen a performance a few years ago.

Yash touched a hand to the thaali, conscious of the heat of the flame on it, and the fragrance of agrabati overwhelming him. He bowed his head, and passed his hand over his hair.

After, he left the temple behind, the fragrance of agrabati trailing him, even as he sat before the meal Krishna had kept flies from overtaking for him. He sat there for a long while, plate before him, even after Krishna had gone home. The gurgle of water did remain with him, but so, too, did the chimes of ghungroos.