Classic Novel
Chapter 3
Chapter 3: Wanderer
Mikalya’s P.O.V-
For nearly a century I've been roaming this Earth, wandering through different lands, watching time fly past. People changed, empires rose and fell, India gained its independence, new generations were born and the older ones died out. An endless cycle of life and death that seems to stretch on forever and ever.
But even though the world around me has changed so much, I'm still trapped in that cold winter night from a century ago when a young girl had to not only grow up, but do something that no child of fourteen should ever have to dream about. A cold night painted in deep, dark red that even the darkness couldn't hide. Screams so loud and painful that it echoed throughout the lands. And then....silence.
What had hurt more than the scream was the endless silence. Silence now buried under thousands of layers of sand. No one remembers Mouri anymore, as if it never existed. The pack that I had been born in had liked to travel, liked to kill entire packs and take over their land, only to leave it in ruins a few days later when all the previous packs income had been spent on alcohol and their women had given birth to the next generation. If there was one thing I was thankful for, it was the fact that my pack had had no more children during the time I’d burnt it to the ground. Only boys in their late teens who had taken pleasure in raping their own sisters. They had deserved what was coming their way.
Today, I once again stood in the same land that had once been my version of Hell. But when I looked ahead now, I can see a small thriving village that is now a tourist spot. I saw several women in colorful ghagra-choli’s (an Indian dress worn mainly in Gujarat and Rajasthan) with wide smiles on their faces as they led the other tourists to their shops where they sold such similar dresses,
hand woven bed sheets and dolls made of clay or straws. It was a land filled with color and prosperity and hope.
When Rafael had been Alpha, he’d treated women like disposable dolls, not letting them wear anything other than torn rags, but he’d mostly kept them naked and let the men do as they please. He had insulted the very foundation of our world. To humiliate women in a land where the people call our country "Matribhumi" (mother land), a land where Goddesses Durga ( Mother Goddess), Kali (Death Goddess), Saraswati (Goddess of Knowledge), Lakshmi (Goddess of wealth and prosperity), Annapurna (Goddess who provides us food) and several women are considered mothers, Goddesses and are worshiped every day; his crimes had been unforgiveable. But as I’d learnt soon after, he wasn’t the only one.
Not just humans, but the world of shifters is dominated by males. Females are still only fit to work in the kitchen and give birth to their children. Although now I see several women getting educated, taking up jobs and running their families with capable hands, they still do not have as much freedom as men.
But who am I to speculate? I’m just a lone wanderer who keeps roaming throughout India, not staying in one location for more than ten years so that the humans don’t start questioning why I don’t age. I’ve worked odd jobs at several cities and villages and have managed to make a fortune for myself, but the saddest part is, I don’t have any family to spend that money on.
Oh, who am I kidding? I don’t have family alright, but I have someone who has tagged along with me my entire life. Ruksaar. The only other survivor from Mouri.
She had been extremely excited to visit her birthplace but as soon as she had gotten on the plane, the hot steward had grabbed her attention. That was why, at present, I was standing in this small town that had once been Mouri and Ruksaar was in her hotel room with the steward, fornicating.
It’s not like I’m a virgin. Wolves are sexual creatures just like most shifters, so I’ve had my fair share of lovers that have sometimes lasted up to a couple of years, but we also have mates. And we can only have children with our mates. Unfortunately, I’ve never once found a mate in my one hundred and twenty six years of existence; and frankly, I don’t plan to find him either. And to think that Mother Nature had burdened us with not one but several mates to choose from…it caused a shudder to run down my spine. But with Ruksaar, it was different. She preferred one night stands to something a bit more permanent.
“Sorry,” I spoke to the sand, where I’d burned the remains of Ruksaar’s mother. “You’re probably regretting sending her off with me.”
But no one answered and I knew that Ruksaar’s mother hadn’t had a choice. It was either I save her daughter from the scorching flames or let her die along with everyone else in the village. And I’d decided to keep her with me rather than abandon her at an orphanage. She was pack; she was blood.
“I thought we were here on a vacation!” I turned to find Ruksaar wobbling over a dune, trying to cross over to me without getting sand in her shoes. “Why are you brooding in broad daylight?”
“Sorry, I haven’t mugged up the brooding manual yet.” I shrugged as I debated entering the village or turning back and heading back to our hotel. “That was awfully quick.”
Ruksaar huffed as she came to a stand next to me. Her long black hair hung in loose curls to her waist and she was wearing a ghagra-choli in bright green mixed with blue. Her skin was dusky; almost like milk chocolate and her big almond shaped dark brown eyes were looking at the place of her birth with interest. She had no memories of that night, of course. That’s why I didn’t see her show any signs of recognition. But this land was etched in my memories forever, just like the night we had escaped it. And I will never be able to forget it, until the day I die.Text property © Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org.
“Come on, jiji,” Ruksaar linked her hand through mine and began dragging me towards the village. “I’m starving. Let’s go eat something spicy.”
“Everything here is spicy.” I told her, remembering one of the dishes my mother used to feed me. Both Gujarat and Rajasthan were known for their spicy food, as well as their unique culture and ancient castles.
Hand in hand, we both set foot into the land that had never welcomed women with the pride and joy we deserved, but with fear and anguish. As old memories swirled, I crushed them down with sheer strength of will. The past was in the past. I will not let it ruin the future.