On the night Kumudvati asked her directly, Sulochana sat before a lamp. A short distance away, Chaturika pretended to weave a flower garland.
“Gurudevi,” Kumudvati asked softly, “you are growing weary.”
“Weariness is natural in disciplined practice,” Sulochana replied.
“This is not the weariness of practice. Something within you is changing.”
Sulochana remained silent for a moment.
Then she looked towards Chaturika.
“Chaturika, bring flowers for the lamp offering.”
Chaturika bowed and left the chamber.
After she had gone, Sulochana beckoned Kumudvati closer.
“What you have noticed is true.”
“Then what is happening?”
“Some forms are worn upon the body. Others enter into the body. The one who assumes such a form must remain fully awake. If that awareness weakens, the form begins to strengthen its own nature.”
Kumudvati’s face turned pale.
“Is it dangerous?”
Sulochana took her hand.
The touch still sent a thrill through Kumudvati. Yet she felt that some of the warrior’s restraint once present in it had grown faint.
“It may become dangerous,” Sulochana said. “But do not be afraid. My breath is still under my command.”
Kumudvati looked into her eyes.
“Do not lie to me.”
Sulochana smiled.
“If there is falsehood in dance, the eyes betray it. I will not lie to you. But the time has not yet come to tell you the whole truth.”
Once again, Kumudvati’s heart tightened with that familiar feeling.
Was it affection?
Fear?
The desire to protect?
She did not know.
Outside the doorway, Chaturika stood in silence and heard the final sentence.
There was no compassion in her eyes now.
Only darkness.
---
From the following day onward, Chaturika drew even closer.
The medicinal decoctions she prepared became more fragrant.
The floral essences mixed into Sulochana’s bathwater changed.
The arrangement of flowers placed in her hair changed.
During the nightly massage of her feet, Chaturika’s fingers touched certain hidden vital points.
The food grew softer and sweeter.
When recreation was supposed to relieve fatigue, Sulochana instead became increasingly delicate.
One evening, they practised swordsmanship.
Kumudvati stood holding a sword. Sulochana faced her.
At the very first movement, Kumudvati was startled.
Once, her teacher’s step had flashed like lightning. Now that speed had dimmed.
Her wrist still possessed sculptural precision, but the strike lacked force.
There was discipline in her gaze, but the fire of the warrior was gone.
“Gurudevi,” Kumudvati said, stopping.
Sulochana exhaled.
“Again.”
“You need rest.”
“Again,” Sulochana repeated.
But the word sounded less like a command and more like a plea.
Kumudvati lowered her sword.
“I am your disciple. But I am not blind.”
Sulochana looked at her.
There was gratitude in that gaze.
There was pain.
And an unspoken secret stood between them like a wall.
Just then, Chaturika entered and bowed.
“My lady, the medicinal drink is ready.”
Sulochana accepted it.
As she was about to drink, Kumudvati stopped her hand. (To Be Continued)
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