The battle within the wedding pavilion had ended.
But time had not stopped.
Sharabhanga’s warning flashed through Kumudvati’s mind:
After the completion of the forty-day vow, they had to bathe in the pond of the ruined temple of Shiva before sunrise on the forty-first day. Only then would Sulochana regain her former form.
If that moment passed, the bond would become permanent.
Kumudvati looked towards the sky.
The night was deepening.
Little time remained before dawn.
“Sulochana,” she said, “we must leave.”
For a moment, Sulochana listened to her own body.
Battle had kept her standing.
But the antidote, the vow, the drug, and the enchantment had together drained the air from within her.
“Yes,” she said. “Now.”
The Alchemy-Perfected Warriors wished to send them by chariot.
But a chariot would be too slow.
The roads would wind.
Enemy remnants might still remain.
A swift horse stood ready.
Sulochana mounted it.
Kumudvati seated herself behind her.
They were still dressed in bridal garments.
The dust of battle, the fragrance of flowers, sweat, and the faint signs of wounds that had not drawn blood all mingled into a strange and striking sight.
Kumudvati wound herself around Sulochana like a vine.
She wrapped both arms around her waist and rested her head against her back.
“Am I holding you too tightly?” she asked.
Sulochana smiled.
“Do not let go now.”
The horse began to run.
---
The forest paths fled behind them.
The moon disappeared among the clouds and emerged again.
The wind struck backwards.
The trees passed like whirling shadows.
The beating of the horse’s heart entered Sulochana’s body.
The movement of Sulochana’s body reached Kumudvati’s heart.
This was not an escape after battle.
It was a race against time.
Kumudvati held her even closer.
“Only a little farther,” she said.
Sulochana drove the horse through the wind.
In that rush, in that urgency, in that closeness—
For one moment, she failed to notice the path ahead.
A great anthill stood in the ground before them.
The horse leapt over it.
The edge of the anthill collapsed.
Within it, a circle of deep austerity, burning in stillness, was broken.
The horse continued forward.
But from behind them came a voice that split the sky.
“Stop!”
The voice was old.
But powerful.
There was anger in it.
And the divine vision to understand.
The horse stopped of its own accord.
From the broken anthill emerged a sage.
His body was covered in the earth of ants, roots, and rainwater.
His eyes burned like fire.
Mandakrodha.
His gaze fell upon Sulochana and Kumudvati.
In a single instant, his divine sight perceived their past, the vow, the abduction, the battle, and their desperate haste.
Yet the breaking of an austerity remained the breaking of an austerity.
“Reckless women!” he thundered. “In your haste, you have disturbed my penance. Though I know the purpose for which you travel, when discipline is broken, its consequence must still take form.”
Sulochana immediately descended from the horse.
Kumudvati followed.
Both folded their hands.
“Revered sage, the fault is ours,” Kumudvati said. “But time pursues us. Show mercy.”
Mandakrodha looked at Sulochana.
“May this Sulochana, who drives the horse, never lose her womanhood completely!”
The words fell like thunder.
Sulochana’s face turned pale.
Tears filled Kumudvati’s eyes.
“Revered sage!” they cried together and fell to their knees.
Sulochana spoke:
“Our fault was haste, not treachery. If the curse falls in full, the vow, the word of our guru, and the protection of the kingdoms will all become fruitless. Show mercy.”
Kumudvati pleaded,
“She does not race for herself alone. She races for two kingdoms, for her true form, and for my promise. Though fault has touched us, do not let dharma be shattered.”
The fire in Mandakrodha’s eyes softened.
“A curse once spoken cannot be taken back,” he said. “But I can change its direction.”
They looked at him with hope.
“If you reach the pond of the ruined temple in time and bathe there, the power of the vow will restore Sulochana as Sulochanudu. Chaturaka’s bond will be broken.
“But because of my curse, womanhood will not disappear completely.”
Kumudvati listened in silence.
Mandakrodha continued:
“Your lives will move in a cycle of years.
“For one year, Sulochanudu will remain in masculine form and Kumudvati in feminine form.
“In the following year, Kumudvati will take masculine form, while Sulochana will remain feminine.
“And so, each of you will be both husband and wife to the other.
“Form will not be authority between you.
“It will be transformation.
“Love will flow between you, changing its direction.
“Each will be able to bear a child through the other.
“That is the blessing within my curse.”
Was it a curse?
Or a boon?
Sulochana and Kumudvati looked at one another.
At first, there was more wonder than fear.
Then, after wonder, came a gentle joy.
For this was not division.
It was mutual flow.
One would not always be the giver while the other remained the receiver.
In the turning of time, each would become the other for the other.
Kumudvati took Sulochana’s hand.
“Even if this is a curse, we will carry it together,” she said.
Sulochana smiled gently.
“Perhaps it is a blessing only we can understand.”
Mandakrodha raised his hand.
“Time is passing. Go.”
They bowed.
Then they mounted the horse again. (To be Continued)
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