Rudraksh

4. Dark Clouds Of Fate. (Edited POV)

Days passed, weeks passed but one thought still lingered in my mind. As fresh and pleasant as the fragrance of roses that were lined in the jharokha. The more I tried to get rid of it the more it's grip tightened around my subconscious. The thought of a man wrapped in a bandhgala suit. The man who hated my kin and probably would hate me if we ever crossed paths. The very thought of it made a shiver run through me.

Why do I even care ?

A vintage table was at the Jharoka accompanied by two vintage emerald velvet chairs. There were several books of poetry and history piled on the table along with a few fountain pens.

Monsoon winds howled and pierced through my black locks as I read the greatest works of my favourite poets. I was sitting on one of the chairs in the jharokha, one hand holding the book I was reading and the other caressing the back of my pet raven, Dhruv. The bird was bigger than the average size of it's species and utterly terrifying. But he was a complete softie. He was sprawled over my lap like a baby.

I turned the page and my fingers traced the beautiful piece of writing by the great poet Abdul Rahim Khan-i-Khanan ( Abdurrahim Khankhana ) mostly known as Rahim.

रहिमन धागा प्रेम का, मत तोड़ो चटकाय।
टूटे से फिर ना जुड़े, जुड़े गाँठ परी जाय॥

I awed at the words. To the outside world I was a warrior, a fierce and tough fighter but inside, I'd admit, I was a hopeless romantic.

Whenever the world around me reduced to a big mass of dark nothingness, whenever I felt alone... I would come to my constant companions. My books. A treasure of romantic, adorn and mystic poetry and stories. The very thought of having someone who would love me more than the world made bubbles of ecstasy burst inside the walls I had built around my heart over time.

The doha kept playing in my mind like a soft lyrical piece accompanied by soothing notes of piano.

रहिमन धागा प्रेम का, मत तोड़ो चटकाय। ( Rahiman dhaaga prem ka, mat todo chatkaay )

Rahim says, Do not break the delicate thread of love

टूटे से फिर ना जुड़े, जुड़े गाँठ परी जाय॥ ( Toote se fir na jude, jude gaanth pari jaay )

Once broken, it cannot be mended. Even if mended, it will have a knot

I turned another page and took a sip of Som Ras from an antique silver goblet. Som Ras was named after our town. Juice of a sweet fruit that could only be grown in the heavenly soil of Town Somm. Kashmir was beautiful. People from across Aryavarta and even Deccan came here to purify their eyes believing that it was the adobe of Gods and Somm was the treasure of Kashmir, the beating heart of it. The most beautiful landscape in all of Kashmir and my home.

The Soma fruit looked like ripe peaches and had a sweet buttery taste to them, the unripe ones had tang similar to that of black grapes. Both were used in making the Ras, a divine fermented potion that seemed to have healing properties and some believed it had benefits that slowed aging. It had both alcoholic and non alcoholic variants but I liked to have it neutral. Equal portions of both variants and there you have an acceptable mind-blowingly delicious beverage that will sooth your ever troubled mind.