Chapter 4: The Valley of Shadowed Decay

2

His words threw me into panic.

My mind whirled. Tampering with the flower? I barely had the strength to stand, let alone plot such a thing. Yet his words had the certainty of a judge delivering a sentence. For a moment, I wondered if I had truly lost my mind, like Didi.

I knew how precious the Saptarangi Kamal was, but I had no idea what he was talking about.

His accusation felt like a slap. I remembered the stories from my childhood—how even a shadow falling on such a sacred flower could bring a hundred years’ bad luck. I was terrified, not just for myself, but for what this would mean for our family.

I couldn’t stand on my own, so I slumped against the wall, struggling in vain to break free from his grip.

The wall was cold, rough against my back. I tried to wriggle away, but my body would not listen. I felt like a broken puppet—strings cut, head lolling. My vision blurred at the edges, and the room spun like a top.

Finally, I stopped resisting, silently waiting for his fingers to tighten. If I died in the mortal world, I would simply enter the cycle of rebirth and start anew.

I wondered if death would be merciful—maybe, in the next life, I would be born as a bird, free to fly wherever I pleased. Or maybe as a banyan tree, rooted and unmoving, immune to the whims of men. Anything would be better than this endless torment.

Compared to the suffering Arjun had brought me, I would rather be reborn.

Even the cycle of eighty-four lakh births seemed preferable to this life of unending pain. I closed my eyes, remembering the stories Dadi used to tell: 'Beta, har dukh ka ant hota hai.' I prayed mine would come soon.

I waited quietly, until at last Arjun released me.

My knees buckled, but I managed to remain upright. The bruises on my neck throbbed, but I refused to touch them, refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing my pain.

I opened my eyes and met his gaze.

His eyes were hollow, feverish, desperate. For a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of regret. But it vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by suspicion and anger.

For a moment, my throat was so tight I couldn’t speak. I almost felt lucky, thinking perhaps Arjun still had some feelings for me.

I wanted to believe that—wanted to believe he still cared. But hope is a dangerous thing. My voice came out hoarse, barely above a whisper.

"Arjun, I never touched the Saptarangi Kamal..."

Tears pricked at my eyes. I tried to blink them away, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry. My voice trembled, but I forced myself to continue.

My chest ached, and I couldn’t help but choke up. "Even if I wanted to, look at me—do you think I could even manage it in this broken body?"

The truth hung in the air, heavy and undeniable. I was a shadow of my former self—weak, useless, discarded. I searched his face for any sign of understanding, but found none.

As soon as the words left my mouth, Arjun clenched his fist and slammed it into the wall.

The sound echoed through the room, sharp and final. A crack snaked across the plaster, dust raining down. I flinched, but did not move.

"So Sneha was right—you really did want to destroy the Saptarangi Kamal."

He spat out her name like a curse. The unfairness of it all stung—I had never wished her harm, never tried to take her happiness. But in his eyes, I was always guilty.

"Meera, I told you I would find you another one. But Sneha can’t wait—her limbs are rotting, and I can’t even channel divine energy into her."

His words were frantic, desperate. I almost pitied him, but the memory of his betrayal was too fresh. He always put Sneha’s needs before mine, as if my pain was a small price to pay for her comfort.

"Why? Why have you become so intolerant?"

He spoke as if I were the one who had changed—as if I were the villain. I wanted to laugh, to tell him he had never truly known me. My patience, my love, my suffering—they were invisible to him, swept aside by his obsession with Sneha.

"You’re not my Meera at all."

The words sliced through me, sharper than any blade. I wanted to scream, 'Toh mat raho! Jaao apni Sneha ke paas!' But the words caught in my throat, drowned by the storm inside me.

For a moment, I couldn’t understand his words. I turned my head and looked outside the verandah.

The sky was a dull grey, the air heavy with the promise of rain. I saw the world outside, indifferent to my suffering. I felt utterly alone.

Sneha stood at the threshold, dupatta twisted in her fists, eyes shining with a strange, hungry light.

Her eyes glittered with triumph. She clung to the doorframe, face twisted into a smile that made my blood run cold. I realised, then, that I had never stood a chance.

I immediately sensed something was wrong—and sure enough…

A chill ran down my spine. The pieces fell into place: her wounds, Arjun’s suspicion, the missing flower. It was all too convenient. I shivered, even though the room was stiflingly warm.

Ignoring my pain, Arjun forced me up and flew me to the Valley of Shadowed Decay.

His grip was iron, unyielding. The world blurred as we sped through space, the wind tearing at my hair and sari. I struggled to breathe, the air thick with impending doom.

The air stank of rotting leaves and old incense, thick as the smoke in a winter pooja. The mist was suffocating, clinging to my skin, making my limbs and bones ache unbearably. I trembled and asked, "What are you going to do, Arjun… Do you even understand…"

My voice broke. The mist crept into my lungs, each breath more painful than the last. The world spun, colours bleeding into each other. I clung to the hope that someone—anyone—would save me.

"If you throw me into the Valley of Shadowed Decay, I’ll be utterly destroyed. I’m only a ghost official, with no power to protect myself."

I tried to reason with him, to appeal to whatever humanity he had left. But his face was set, jaw clenched, eyes cold.

Arjun pulled me closer.

I braced myself for the final blow, praying to any god who would listen. My heart pounded, but I refused to show fear.

I thought that after all I’d said, he might show some mercy.

Hope flickered, weak and uncertain. But I should have known better—Arjun’s mercy was reserved for others.

But what I got instead were the coldest words of all.

His voice was like ice, his words unforgiving. I felt the last shred of hope slip away.

"Meera, I’m only using the mist of the Valley to force out your power, so I can forge a divine body for Sneha. You won’t be destroyed—my strength is enough to keep you alive. But Sneha is different. She’s mortal now, and can’t receive my power."

He spoke of my suffering as if it were a small inconvenience, a step in some grand plan. My pain was meaningless, my life expendable.

"Meera, just bear with it."

His words echoed in my mind—just bear with it. How many times had I heard that before? 'Bas thoda aur, beta.' 'Sabar karo.' But patience had brought me nothing but misery.

Bear with it.

I let the words roll over me, cold and heavy. My body screamed in protest, but I forced myself to stay still.

How am I supposed to bear this?

I wanted to shout, to rage, to curse the fates that had brought me here. But I was too tired, too broken.

If that’s how it is…

Something inside me snapped. I decided, then and there, that I would not be a pawn any longer.

I let go of all the strength in my body. As I lost control, I dragged Arjun down with me, both of us plunging into the valley.

It was not courage, but desperation that moved me. If I was to suffer, so would he. The mist swallowed us whole, the world dissolving into pain and darkness.

Amid the swirling mist, I laughed softly and whispered:

'Arey Arjun, if you want to forge a divine body for Sneha, then go to hell and get it yourself.'

The words were bitter, laced with all the anger I had kept bottled up for years. For the first time, I felt free—if only for a moment.