There’s blood in my hair again.
I run the wet, sticky strands through my fingers and flick
the droplets on the ground.
And they come at me again, swords raised and howling.
Eyes closed, I swing my sword and it finds its mark, and I
can hear the bounce of its head, feel the cool breeze of my sword, and taste
the blood on my lips.
This is why my mothers created me, so that I could slice and
chop and hack, but most of all kill and kill and kill.
It’s all I know.
I open my eyes and look around at the ruined tangle of
bodies, and—
There’s blood in my hair again.
I don’t remember when he appears. One moment I’m alone like I always am, and
then suddenly he’s by my side, his slashes perfectly in time with mine.
One glance and I know he’s a god.
“You fight well,” he says when it’s all over and I say
nothing because I know it’s true.
His sword flashes up and I turn it aside on instinct but
slow, almost too slow, and he smiles.
“How about a practice duel?” he asks, and in answer I swing
my sword at his neck.
He laughs as he jumps back, and the fight is on.
It’s hours before we stop, both too exhausted to even hold
our swords up anymore.
“Rematch tomorrow?” he pants.
“Rematch,” I reply hoarsely and I watch him leave.
We duel like this every day and I start to memorize him, his
attack patterns, the stubble on his cheeks, the quick spin of his blade, the
flecks in his eyes, until I think I could close my eyes for an eternity and
still have his image in my mind.
I’ve never met someone like him before, someone who doesn’t
care that I wield swords instead of paintbrushes, someone who cracks jokes
while blood spews, someone who can make me smile.
I never laughed before I met him.
I start to count the hours, minutes before he arrives.
I dream of him at night and when he comes back, I feel
electrified.
One day, he’s different when he visits. He’s with another man, who looks like
him. Both are distraught, and I feel
something icy on my spine.
“Have you seen her?” the other one asks and inwardly, I
know, I know.
“Seen who?”
“My wife,” he says, and I can feel something hard inside me
shatter into a million tiny drops.
“No, I haven’t. I don’t
see anyone around here.” Except for you.
He lets out a long breath.
“I see. She was kidnapped from
me, and I’m trying to find her. I won’t
be back for a while. I’ll see you then
though.”
“Y-You’ll be back?”
“Of course.” He
stopped and grabbed my hand. “Maybe we
can talk then.”
When he leaves, I can still feel the imprint of his palm in
my skin.
And so I wait and wait and wait. They don’t come to fight me anymore. My mothers don’t need me anymore.
So I sit by the place where we dueled, and wait.
Days turn to weeks turn to months turn to years.
But I don’t mind.
I would wait a thousand lifetimes to see his face again.
Bibliography: "Vaishno Devi: Goddess of the Hills" by Aruna Balakrishna Singh and Durgesh Velhal.
Reading Guide.
Author's Note: This story is based on the legend of Vaishno Devi or Vaishnavari, a goddess who was created by Lakshmi, Parvati, and Saraswati, the consorts of Vishnu, Shiva, and Brahma respectively. She was created to deal with rakshasas terrorizing the land, and eventually was reborn into a girl who fell in love with Vishnu. He agreed to come back and take her as his wife but she did not recognize him when he came to her in the form of an old man, so he said he would come later when she was ready. To prove herself, she traveled deep into the mountains and meditated, but another man came by and fell in love with her. As she had promised herself to Vishnu, she refused the other man, but his desire was too much and she eventually killed him. She then turned herself into stone to wait for Vishnu to come back for her. I tried to keep the big similarities, so she references her "mothers" and fights demons in the beginning, but I took out the reincarnation part. I tried to emphasize her crazy passion for him because she seemed incredibly devoted in the story.
