~ PaRud OS || Parvati ~

As he laid her down with a dip in the bed, her hair sprawled on the pillow as though a halo had graced her... the contrast between the midnight locks and moonlit skin sending his treacherous heartbeat racing.

Parvati. The goddess of power. A suitable name.

Yes, at times, when the passion of their lovemaking would engulf him in a haze and the fragrance of her itr would bind him in a trance, he would leave the blue bruises along her fair skin... his grip unforgiving and his need intolerant. But alas, it was the woman in his arms who had this man in uniform wrapped tightly around her delicate, mehndi coated fingers. A whisper, an arch of the back or even a subtle teasing with the slightest lift of her lehenga would draw him to her ---like a parched man discovering water in arid desert. Yet it was Parvati who would drink him dry time and time again... until he lay naked upon her old, wooden bed, breathless yet satiated.

The smell of sex and sweat, mingling with the fragrance of jasmine and second hand perfume would linger mockingly in the air, the bittersweet aftermath of flesh seeking relief through flesh. She was his ultimate relief. His ultimate salvation.

He smiled lazily as she studied the patterns of the veins prominent in his arms, slowly wiping away the remnants of the lipstick he had smeared in the throes of passion. Her long lashes brushed against her ruddy cheeks as her breasts rose and fell in anticipation, the sweat on her skin gleaming in the breaking sunlight.

"Do not marry her, Rudra"

The words slipped so gently through her lips, for a moment he wasn't certain he had heard them.

"Please, Rudra. For me"

He peered into the eyes of the woman who agreed to share her bed and was now offering to share her heart. Rudra knew Parvati. He knew how she groaned when he traced his lips between the valley of her breasts. He knew how her small and delicate hands held the unforeseen power to be strong and resilient. He knew about the dark, crescent shaped birthmark that resided on the flare of her hips. He knew how her hazel eyes would shimmer in the light, revealing the delicate hints of grey and gold that usually remained concealed.

But he did not understand what he could not see. He did not understand what he could not hear. He did not understand her heart. He did not understand her heartbeat.

"Paro. You know that I have never promised you anything. It's essential I marry Laila, and you must come to understand that. I'm sorry."

And as per ritual, he lifted himself off the unstable bed,tossed away the condom and pulled the scattered clothing back over his lean body... leaving behind a silent Paro watching him closely.

And with the click of a shutting door, he was gone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The melody of the dholaks and the shrieks of joy and festivity poured through her open window, hanging heavy in the warm summer air. Swallowing became a difficult task, her throat insistently parched and unwilling to moisten. Parvati subconsciously fingered the gun he left within her bedside table, reminiscing back to when he had given it to her as "an unfaultable means of protection."

As the laughs and cheers resonated through her little,pitiful home, she aligned the pistol alongside her heart. And when Laila's maang was doused in brilliant red, a trigger was pulled with trepid fingers... staining pristine white sheets with thick, warm blood.

The music of the baraat faded into silence as Paro was left hopelessly powerless.