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webanglikethat · 4 months

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We said our legacies were timeless (but we were not): Ram and Devi

Published on: 11/06/24 Also available to read on ao3: here (would appreciate comments and kudos!) (and look at the beginning note) Words: 4,626 Siri please play:

he didn’t know how it had happened. all Ram remembered was Devi slipping away from the fight and his voice rising above the screams and clashing blades, urging her to run, to find safety. he would have her back, he reminded her, as she finally turned away, his eyes leaving their trajectory only when her shadow was too far to be seen. he released a sigh he didn't realized had been imprisoned within his chest — where an anxious dance had begun to take shape. so he turned around and resumed his fight, finding himself lost in prayers in his mind, a swirl of “please, please let her find a safe place” and “please, please if the choice is between me and her, take me”. Ram wasn’t a fool, he remembered the prophecy, as precisely as he remembered the way her touch felt on his body, a touch that felt like her birthright, as if the stars themselves had conspired to craft them two with the same cosmical particles. he knew the dangers that lurked outside, threatening to leave him bereft of her, the sole object of his reverence, the only one who had seen right through him and decided to still hold onto him.

Ram was acutely aware of his reputation, after all, thatwas the only thing he had learned to protect in his life. only few had had the privilege of being close to him, and even then, they still felt like a storm trying to batter an unyielding fortress, an interminable fight which led them to wonder, was the prize behind this wall truly worth it? and the answer was always the same two letters. and so, any efforts to draw near to him were met with a barrage of biting comments and a distant, unapproachable presence that he used like a shield to keep others away from him (and keep himself away from others).

the thing is, Ram had always known his place in the world. he was the second heir to the second most powerful dynasty, a legacy that nobody could undo and if they tried, they would die in their attempt. he was a Brahmin, the chosen one to be connected with Mahakali, to interpret the goddess’s will and carry out her every desire — his life didn’t only belong to the last name he carried, but it did to her too. Ram was now nearing thirty, and for as long as he could remember, his life had never belonged to himself. each desire, each longing, each whim, each craving and anything that could show his true self were carefully tucked away, as if locked inside a box with no lock. he had slowly grown accustomed to this self-imposed austerity, wearing it like an iron cloak that shielded him from the frivolities of personal indulgence. to him, wants were mere whispers drowned out by the roaring call of responsibility, a crown he had to wear because its weight was only his to be burdened with. and as the years passed, he became a master of restraint. his heart had become a fortress where dreams dared not to linger (and yet still tried to knock and pleaded to be let into). his sharp tongue, his quick remarks and abrasive demeanors served as sentinels, warding off anyone who might attempt to pierce the veil of his solitary existence. friendships were fleeting, and connections remained superficial, for Ram had little patience for the frivolities of social niceties. he was a man of action, and his purpose left little room for personal “enchantments”. and so, he’d rather make the choice to isolate himself (in the stead of anyone who surrounded him, because he knew it was only a matter of time till they did that), for that was a better route than losing himself to a game of changes and chances. to him, they all were merely an entertainment for his mind, vessels of his jest, a warmth he couldn’t approach.

but that all changed when he met Deviya. he couldn’t pinpoint what exactly it had been about her that changed the trajectory of his existence, but he knew from the first moment that wherever she went, he would’ve followed her. it had been a crazy idea, an even crazier feeling, especially because he knew that in the road of his life, all stones had already been set. but diamonds are known for being the most difficult stone to destroy, and she possessed that same stubbornness and passion, one he never allowed himself to possess. Deviya was the direct opposite of him. she had always been wild, riding away into the sunset even when other looked down at her for her not ladylike behaviour. to her, the phrase “the sky is the limit” held no importance because a limit was a mere rule meant to be broken; and only they knew how much trouble she would always find herself into, as if she was a magnet for it.

he wouldn’t admit it out loud but he had dreamed of her for five years, replaying his memories of her in his mind, painting her eyes like maple syrup, brown with golden highlights in the walls of his most vital organ. with all the features of her jointed beauty imprinted in his mind, lingering like a tattoo he couldn’t dermabrase (tere bina kya wajood mera?) he drew constellations on her body, a region of chaos that felt like peace to his starving heart. he painted her with a light colours palette, a reflection of how she would always illuminate life itself and he painted himself with dark colours, for balance and equilibrium and to remind her that hers is the light by which his spirits feels safe. if she was daylight, he would be her gloom. not the lonely and hurt type, but the one where you can gather your thoughts and breathe — a safe place some might even say. he wanted to be a place like that for her so badly that he might have reversed the roles.

and it’s ironic how even with all the knowledge and wisdom of the world at his disposal, he still couldn’t figure this out on his own. it was four letters eluding him, the same way his fate was. but he knew deep down that she ought to be with someone who could give her everything she deserved. he knew it wouldn’t be difficult for her to find someone like that, she didn’t even need to try. she could and would find someone who could be free, give her everything she wanted: someone who could embrace her desires, whether that meant building a legacy together or escaping from it. she needed not a spy in the shadows, but a light at her side. and he knew he couldn’t give her that, so why was he still trying? why was he playing this game of chances with her? what were the chances it would work out? for all his prestigious Brahmin status, his luxury and connection with Mahakali, Ram couldn't see the future. he couldn't predict the outcome of this risky affair and couldn't be sure that his efforts would lead to anything more than heartbreak, a feeling as foreign as freedom. his connection with Mahakali was supposed to give him insight, a deeper understanding of the world's workings and the answers to questions no one else possessed. but love, it seemed, was beyond even the goddess's domain. Devi was everything he had ever dreamed of, but he also saw her dreams, her aspirations, and knew that he might never be able to fully meet them. she needed someone who could be everything he aspired to be, everything he might never become.

but what is love if not an abstract concept leading you blindly through life, making you trust in something unseen yet so profoundly felt? it is the courage to embrace the unknown, to walk a path shrouded in mist, guided only by the light of shared dreams and whispered promises. in love, you don't always see the next step clearly. you don't always have the certainty of solid ground beneath your feet. for all you know, the stairs could open up, and you’d fall right into madness, drowning in a river of despair, leaving you stranded and bereft in a foreign land. but that’s the funny thing — you still take the step anyway, because love demands it and you crave it. it asks for your trust, for your belief in the goodness of the journey, even when the path is obscured; because through the midst, you’ll always find the lighthouse — love. so tell him, how was he supposed to un-love her, then? (to unlove her was to unstitch the threads that had woven themselves into the very fabric of his being, the same tapestry that kept him going and made him who he was. and so, to un-love her would be to deny the very essence of his existence, to extinguish the flame that resided in the fireplace of his heart. to unlove her would mark the ending of his existence, the unravelling of his story.)

he remembered the night before all this mess, how he had kissed her in her room; so deeply till he forgot where he began and where she ended. until the beat he heard couldn’t be claimed by only one of them, for both of their hearts danced in unison, playing the same music. he had laid down next to her, tracing his finger on her face, watching her chest rise and fall, wondering if he’d be the one to witness the last of it all. they’d talked about everything, from their past to their future, and he’d seen her blush and decided to tease her, “you’re blushing”, he had whispered, “and so? never seen anyone fall for your charm before?”, she had replied, watching the pink on her face match the one on his. she would’ve been his end, he thought at that moment, as he pulled her closer and kissed her again, as desperately as one would kill their lover before drowning in a blue ocean, as if she was his anchor and his shore. they knew that what they had possessed an expiration date and that it might just be momentary, an imaginary footnote in their stories no one else would know about, but they’d die trying to make it legendary. and so, despite the uncertainty, they revered in every moment together, chasing the fleeting seconds as if they were timeless. they understood the fragility of their time together but chose to live in the now, letting the future worry about itself.

that was how they had spent that last night together — wrapped in each other's arms, dreaming of impossible tomorrows. they found solace in the small things — the way her hand fit perfectly in his, the sound of his heartbeat when she rested her head on his chest, the way she would laugh at his lamest jokes and shake her head, telling him he was insane. and he was. Ram knew he was difficult, he knew he was insane, but how could one differentiate love from insanity, for is love not the first madness that reigned in this world? for Ram, her laughter was the sweetest melody, her touch the gentlest caress of fate, her kisses the most intoxicating wine — one he could drink from until it ultimately led to his demise. they knew that in the end, it wasn't about the time they had left; it was about how they chose to spend it — loving fiercely, because in their hearts they knew that such a love, even if none of them had dared to utter those four letters yet, though fleeting, was worth every moment, every breath, every shaking hand, every whisper, every beat of their intertwined hearts, every infringement and every fear.

and sure, the most famous love affairs you can think of ended on a happy note, but not all great love stories have a happy ending, and they lived theirs with a fervour that defied and put to shame the beginning and the middle of any of them.

now standing in the midst of the chaos that had erupted since that night, Ram couldn't shake the feeling that everything had changed irrevocably, a moment he couldn’t undo or stop. the room around him was a whirlwind of noise and movement, of screams and clashes, of blood and tears mixing together till he couldn’t feel the difference, but all he could think about was her — how her eyes had sparkled with promises of a future they both yearned for but could not yet or ever grasp. he thought of how just the night before he had promised her he’d always be by her side, even if it meant abandoning everyone else. but where was she? where had she gone? he had been so concentrated on defeating anyone who tried to curse her and hurt her that he had forgotten to make sure he knew where exactly she had escaped to. he rubbed his temples, trying to focus on the present.

“we have to get out of here," a voice called, snapping him back to reality. it was Kamal, eyes wide with urgency. "they’ll be here any minute, and while the three of us can easily defeat them, the rest of the Dozen is left unguarded." Ram nodded, though his mind was still lingering in that room, her scent lingering on his skin, memories of her shaking hands as he had begun the ritual, his trembling eyelashes and her rogue breathing. "I'll be right behind you," he assured, glancing one last time at the door they had come through, the same one she had used to leave.

as they made their way through the narrow alleyways, occasionally stopping to defend someone or to push away the enemy, he felt a pang of guilt, rooting itself into his heart, taking place into his shaking hands. he had promised her safety, whispered reassurances in the dead of night. yet here he was, leading them both into the jaws of uncertainty, their Iives a feast for it.

the moon hung high and all he could think was about his desperate hope that he wouldn’t lose her, not to a reincarnation of a star in the same nefarious sky that refused to give them a sign. it was getting late now and he was getting tired. he could feel his bone aching to rest and lie down, yet he could never get tired of her and her mere existence. every time the world exhausted him down to his bones, she was there to filter the bad and alter it into vitality. it was getting late and he still loved her. he had loved her this morning when the birds were singing and she has stepped out the carriage, he had loved her this midday as he awaited her arrival at the temple and noticed her buying earrings at a stall; he had loved her in the afternoon as she was walking around the place with him and she made fun of him for being so nervous; he had loved her in the evening as he was writing and her name filled all his notebooks to the brink. he loved her so deeply that he wished this had happened to him instead, that her fate had been his. hadn’t she been dealt enough pain already in her life? he knew he could take her pain and inject it into his vein, transform her scars into his own, asphyxiate the grief from her heart and drink it like a thirsty man. he longed to breathe in her sorrow, to swallow her suffering whole and let it poison his own blood instead. he would gladly bear the weight of her wounds, let it etch itself onto his skin until he was marked by her struggles. he could cradle her agony within his soul, let it drown him in its depths if it meant sparing her another moment of despair. he wanted to weave her nightmares into his own dreams, face the demons that haunted her, and fight them to his last breath, as long as she was safe.

but then it happened.

and somehow, he knew it before it happened. he could feel it in his bones, on his palm, an interminable shaking he couldn’t stop, as if her existence was like clematis growing on the walls of his heart and he could sense it desiccating. he heard it despite the distance — her scream as she fell down. and he ran, he ran like he never did before, as if his life depended on it, because hers did. his breath hitched in his throat, every step a desperate plea against the inevitable because he knew, even if he couldn’t see it. the world blurred around him, enemies and friends, rain and buildings merging into a frenetic backdrop of panic and fear. his heart pounded a relentless tattoo in his chest, mirroring the frantic rhythm of his thoughts. not her, please not her. everyone, anyone but her. please. his lungs burned, a fire of exertion and dread, but he pushed through, because stopping meant accepting, and he couldn’t and wouldn’t accept a world without her. he had promised her to be by her side just a few hours before so he couldn’t leave her, not now and not ever.

time seemed to slow down, stretching his agony into infinity, and he felt as if he was watching himself from the outside. the silence was deafening, the absence of her voice a cruel confirmation. he finally got outside the temple and saw before his eyes how the dagger had pierced her chest, as blood trickled from the wound, a grotesque river of life ebbing away. his gaze followed the red trail, only to find her hands clutching a matching weapon, driven with finality into her assailant's heart. even in death, she was defiant and her last act was a testament to her indomitable spirit. her eyes seemed to convey a silent triumph, a desperate, unyielding desire to have the final word. that was his stubborn girl, he thought to himself as he ran to her.

he stumbled, knees almost hitting the ground with a force that sent shockwaves through his body. he didn’t care who saw him, he didn’t care what others would say and he didn’t care if for the next days or hours headlines about him and her would be spoken through the mouths of hundreds. all he cared about was her. the world itself could have burned down in flames and swallowed them all, but all he could see was her. Mahakali herself could’ve appeared in front of him in that moment and he would've given away all of his powers, <u>if it meant saving her.<u>

Ram ran into her, pushing away the British Lord, not caring about how it would look to see a member of the Dozen disregard the Governor of Bengali like that. he whispered as he cradled her in his arms, “Devi, Devi answer, Devi.” she could barely open her eyes as she saw him and it felt like a mirage to her, a dream. she couldn’t tell whether it was wishful thinking or if, even in death, all her mind could conjure was him.

someone tried to strike Ram from behind, using this moment at their advantage, but he stood up and summoned shadows from the ground. tendrils of darkness coiled and writhed around him, obeying his will as a necromancer. the shadows thickened and solidified, forming an impenetrable barrier that separated him from his assailant and the rest of the world. the assailant's blade halted in mid-air as the shadows surged, inky blackness wrapping around the intruder's whole body. the darkness tightened, crushing bone and sinew with force. the sound of snapping bones echoed through the chamber, followed by a guttural scream of pain.

he should’ve done that since the start, he thought to himself. he should’ve protected her as soon as he realised what her destiny was. how foolish they had been to think they could undo it all. he dropped to his knees, cradling her body, not caring about his clothes or the stares he could feel on himself, and the whispers of “she was the traitor! and look.. he must’ve helped her.” they could all go to hell for all he cared, but not her, not her. "stay with me, Devi," he pleaded, his voice cracking. "please, stay with me." her eyes fluttered open, her gaze locking onto his. "I’m... sorry," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "don’t apologize," he choked out. "we’ll fix this. I’ll fix this. just hold on.”

“funny how I said I’d drag you to hell with me, yet I’m going way earlier than you are.” she whispered, her eyes meeting his, trying to mirror the love she felt into his reflection. “you — you damned rakhasi, this isn’t the time for that. please, just... just stay with me, damn it. I can't lose you now.” but for all he tried, he knew that the privilege of knowing her so well had come with one price; having her for too little and too fleetingly.

his voice broke as he begged once again, "stay with me, Devi. fight, please. you’re so stubborn, so incredibly strong, you can do this.." she reached up, her fingers trembling as they brushed against his cheek, as if to calm him down, even when that was supposed to be his job. "I’m sorry," she breathed, her voice a fragile whisper, a gentle sound he never wanted to hear again. "I wanted more time. more time with you."

he clutched her hand, tears spilling freely down his face. "we’ll have more time. we will. just hold on. please." he laid her head on his lap, clutching her body as if the mere nearness of his and hers could have a healing effect, as if he could undo it, reverse time and be the one to have felt the dagger in his chest. “at least I loved you till my very last breath” he felt Devi whisper, and Ram could no longer differentiate between the blood on his fingers and the tears on his face as he kissed her fronthead. “don’t talk like that," he choked out, his voice breaking. "you’re not leaving me. not now, not ever. you rakhasi are supposed to haunt me forever, remember? but not like this, not like this.” she smiled weakly, her lips barely moving. "you always were stubborn." he let out a desperate laugh, mingled with a sob. "and you loved me for it." her eyes fluttered, her breath growing shallower. "I did. I do. forever."

he held her tighter, his heart shattering with every passing second. "stay with me, Devi. please, stay..” he pleaded, and he didn’t care who heard it, but he begged her, begged the goddess, begged the fate’s string, begged his own self to do something, to change this. a man of his status should never beg, never kneel and never show weakness — that was one of the first lessons he was taught since the earliest memory he possessed. but he looked to the sky, mud on his luxurious clothes, and begged. he begged until his words were a swirl of pleas and her name. but fate is a cruel parent, never giving, and always demanding. Devi’s eyes closed, her body growing still in his arms. he felt the life slip away from her, leaving him in a cold, silent devoid of her warmth. his tears fell onto her face, mingling with the remnants of the colour on her face.

he hadn’t even told her how he loved her yet.

he could hear the screams behind him, Saraswati’s voice as she saw her best friend’s body and the tiger’s roar as he sensed something was wrong with his master. somewhere between it all, he could hear Ian’s voice, but he didn’t care about it all. she had died, and in her death, she had taken him away too. but n one notices a corpse as long as its heart it’s still beating and blood is still gushing. the battlefield around him was a blur of noise and motion, but his world had narrowed to the fragile form in his arms. the once vibrant and fierce Devi laid limp, her life nothing more than a memory. he wanted to wield that same dagger to his neck which was dripping with her blood. the sight of it, smeared with the essence of her life, ignited a wild, despairing urge within him. it was the same dagger that had been a symbol of her strength and defiance, the very weapon she had wielded with such fierce determination, one he had to fight for, the same way she fought for a place in this world. his hands trembled as he gripped the hilt, feeling the sticky warmth of her blood against his skin. he could still feel her presence in its cold, unyielding steel, and the thought of using it against himself seemed like the only way to bridge the unbearable chasm her death had created. he wanted the same lake of vitality that had flowed in her to be imprinted on him, melt into his bones, reach where not even the sun had caressed him, where her touch hadn’t graced him with her golden touch and where it never would. his mind refused to accept the reality, clinging to the faint hope that she might still wake, that her eyes might flutter open and meet his once again. he begged that she would laugh and tell her this was one of her jokes and that she wanted to see whether the so grand Doobay heir would crack under the weight of his feelings and force to admit the to himself. she would wake up and make fun of him, with that intoxicating smile whose shape he could draw even in the darkness. she would sit up, brushing off the blood and grime, her eyes sparkling with mischief. he could almost hear her voice, almost see the curve of her lips as she teased him. she would wrap her arms around him and reassure him that it was all a test, that she was never truly in danger. he imagined her stirring, her eyes flickering open with that familiar spark of mischief. "did you really think I'd leave you like this?" she would say, her voice teasing. "come on, you know me better than that. I’m not our parents”.

but the truth was, Deviya didn’t wake up. she would never wake up again. and Ram would never get to tell her he loved her back, that she was the utmost object of his affection and that in nearly thirty years, he had never felt so alive as he did when she was around. he would never get to tell her how, before she came into his life, even the sun scorched his hopeful skin, dissipating every ray of hope he had. but she, she was greater to him than the sun itself. she cast a light so strong on his existence that he would have gladly let himself burn in it, if it meant being closer to her. but Ram — he would never get to say any of that. Ram would never get to utter those three syllables or that four-letters word he had been keeping locked inside of him.

Deviya Sharma had died without knowing his love.

and so, his love had died, unknown and unspoken.

they once had said that their legacies were timeless; turned out they were not.

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳

taglist: @haitianempress, @pawaki17luna, @goddessofwonderland, @ram--doobay, @liykaii

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