Srishti covered her head with her stole. Her grandmother had knitted it many winters ago. Srishti was a kid back then. She had felt it against her rosy cheeks when her grandmother gifted it to her back then. “How is this so soft, dadi,” Srishti had asked her grandmother. “Its pure wool, dearest. They sell it for loads of money in foreign lands.” The old lady smiled as she told Srishti stories about distant lands. Centuries had passed since then. Srishti hadn’t aged a day beyond 17. In her mind, she still saw her grandmother’s wrinkled face. It was Time’s canvas, where it had scratched a thousand lines. But her smile was like the north star. Constant and illuminating. Srishti had forgotten how it all began, this ceaseless living and youth. She knew, however, that she was a member of a species struggling to survive. Hundreds of years had passed since the apocalypse struck the earth. No one knew how or where the plague began, and why did it ail only women. Vast numbers of her gender died. Old, young, adolescent, or newborn—the epidemic spared no woman. Those who survived lived for an eternity…so it appeared. The only thing that Srishti found benign about the plague was that it left the survivors young; and capable of walking through the thorny, arid terrains, like the one she was treading on, Kallargarh. They said it used to be a verdant ground overflowing with lush wheat fields. But the plague ate it all. Srishti had been to other lands with a similar fate. Rannpur, Urjeshwar and many other lands. Nature had blessed them all with her bounty, like a young bride with jewels. They said women folk made up for most of the farm labourers. They toiled hard in the fields, letting the furious sun scorch their backs to a burnt cumin’s hue. At the doctor’s small little matchbox of a dispensary, Srishti had heard many of them moaning and crying for the loss of their unborn child. “You shouldn’t bend for hours in the fields in this condition,” the doctor shook his head in disappointment as he scribbled their prescriptions. But all that lay in the past now, documented in government records—their pages half-devoured by booklice and roaches. The dispensaries now only saw the old men and some young ones. Children whose mothers the plague had snatched from them. Srishti inched down her headdress to cover her brows and wrapped the rest over her mouth and nose. It made her sweat like a swine. But she had to keep it that way. Remaining untouched by the sickle of time was a blessing, a few believed. But people such as Srishti knew better. Now that most of the females on Earth had vanished, bounty hunters abounded the land. Men followed a likely suspect like hounds took to the scent of meat. Finding and holding a survivor hostage till she bore a progeny was the need of the hour. Most women like Srishti wrapped a tight cloth around their breasts, sometimes cutting off their breath in the process. Death was a better option than being caged like a hen and getting raped by hordes of men until their seed ripened their egg. Srishti looked up at the sky. The sun had spilled shades of orange, pink, and purple on the ethereal canvas as it ushered in the twilight. Srishti stopped at a food shack. Her tummy grumbled louder than usual, as if complaining about the hours she made it work without a morsel of food. Srishti scrutinized the crowd in the place. In front of the shack were two ramshackle benches, each facing the other. On one of them sat two burly men, whose hands were hammers covered with skin. Their chest hair was thick, giving their torse the appearance of dark thickets. With hard set faces, they chewed on the fritters the shack owner had served them. An old man with a puckered mouth and grey bushy brows sat facing the hammer-hands. Next to him sat a youth who looked just as old as Srishti. Lean face and limbs, accompanied by a thin layer of facial hair on his upper lip. The hammer-hands stared as Srishti walked up to the shack owner. Tea and millet soup if you have some. The shack owner looked Srishti in the eye. She had mastered the art of speaking in a voice that would pass for a male adolescent. But her covered face was a problem. It roused questions. She could see them swimming in the man’s cataract eyes. “Where are you from?” He asked in his raspy voice. Srishti put her hands in her pockets and pulled out a crisp two-rupee note. She slammed it on his counter. “This is for not answering questions.” The man eyed her with suspicion and then looked at the note. He took it in his hands and felt the paper of the currency. Then he held it against the dimming light of the skies and pocketed it, satisfied by its authenticity. He gestured Srishti to take a seat while he brought her what she had ordered. Srishti looked at the benches and made the obvious choice. As she took a seat next to the young boy, the old man uttered a word of gratitude to the Gods. “What’s that?” The young boy asked him as he shifted, making space for Srishti to sit. “Long, long ago,” the old man spoke in the manner stories started in a book, “I think centuries ago, our ancestors freed this land from the whites. Our currency was just as cheap back then.” “Who were the whites?” The young boy asked. “Don’t tell me you haven’t heard the tale. They came on vessels that sailed in the great oceans. They spoke a foreign tongue and struck trading deals with the kings of this land.” “Fucking deal!” One of the hammer-heads spat on the ground. “They came to loot our forefathers and this land; and loot they did.” “Funny to hear you talk about looting,” the old man sipped his brew as he spoke. “What do you mean?” “Everyone knows what your forefathers did. For all we know, they brought the plague to this land.” The hammer-hand sprang from his seat like a rhino about to charge. His companion grabbed his hand and pull him back to his seat. As the air grew tense between the five of them, the quieter one among the beefy men glanced at Srishti. “You seem new to these parts,” he said.  Srishti sipped her tea, which had just arrived, and kept quiet. “Not much of a talker?” He continued probing. “How is any of it your concern?” Srishti asked. She didn’t want any trouble. But the way he was eyeing her made her want to punch him in the gut. “Boy,” the man turned his gaze toward the young man. “Take a look at this one,” he motioned towards Srishti. “Do you think he is what he says he is?” The boy blinked and glanced at Srishti and then at the man. “I don’t understand.” He admitted. “Leave them alone, Kumbhar,” the old man interrupted. “These young boys haven’t done you any harm.” “Young boys? Are you sure you—” The one called Kumbhar started to speak but the old man lifted his palm, asking him to stop. “Let them be, Kumbhar. You destroyed your household and let all your women die. But there is no need for your eccentricity here.” The old man now rose to his full height of over six feet. His hair had greyed, and his beard flew as the chilly desert wind played with it. He didn’t seem like much, but his eyes gleamed as he spoke to Kumbhar. Kumbhar rose from his seat too, along with the other hammer-hand. Srishti had avoided locking eyes with any of them until now. But as she watched the two hammer-hands side by side, she realised. They were brothers. Both had the same jaw and built. Their eyes and hair were the same colour. There were minor differences in their facial features. But the resemblance was uncanny. She finished her soup as fast as she could. One of her gifts was sniffing a ruction from afar. This one was too close for comfort. She started to leave when one of the hammer-heads spoke. “Wait. Reveal yourself before you go.” Srishti swerved toward him. She spoke in a low but firm voice. “Who died and made you the boss of me?” “If you are a man, why use the headdress to veil your face?” The other hammer-hand asked. “You have no business poking around me.” Srishti crossed her arms. The squabble was inevitable. She could sense the angst, bile, and a whiff of lust; which had awoke after a long time. The hammer-hands both moved closer to her, their eyes shimmering like a hungry shark. “Take off your veil, reveal your face to us,” Kumbhar commanded. “Kumbhar, have you lost your mind!” the old man cried out. The boy’s face was ashen; his frame gaunter as the dim light of the shack painted him with shadows. Srishti stole a quick glance at the shack owner. His wry smile told her everything she needed to know. Though confident about her theory, she called out to him just to confirm it. “Will you just stand there and watch?” Her nails dug into her flesh as she balled up her palms. “I just run a food shack. Serve tea, soup, and fritters. I am not some knight in a shining armour. Neither do I intend to be,” the shack owner replied in a rather matter-of-factly tone. “In fact, I get some extra bucks if I offer room to these men.” “Is that right?” Kumbhar cocked a brow at the shack owner. “I charge 50 for an hour, 100 for two. If you need more time than that, I will charge a 100 for every extra hour.” “You are so disgusting! That’s the worth of a woman’s honor to you? No wonder the plague took them all.” “There it is, she admitted it.” Kumbhar’s brother, the other hammer-hand, sneered. Before Srishti could counter them, both the brothers pounced on her. The young boy joined the scrimmage in a futile effort to rescue Srishti. The old man tried lending a hand, but one of the hammer-hands pushed him to the ground. “Stop this! For God’s sake, stop it!” The old man begged them. No one heard him. Everyone was busy taming the feisty girl. The burly brothers had pulled off Srishti’s headdress even as she thrashed around. Her kicks, punches, and moves weren’t that of a novice. The brothers weren’t about to give up, either. They hadn’t had a woman in years. They weren’t letting her go. The young boy, meanwhile, sided with Srishti. He was thin and emasculate when compared to their opponents. But he couldn’t give up now, when he had already landed himself in a quandary. Besides, it would seem dishonorable if he ran where a girl was fighting alone with two fiends for her honour. The shack owner watched as a silent spectator. When he saw Srishti yield two knives hidden in her pockets, he couldn’t help being impressed. Kallargarh was never a place where women were allowed to surpass men in any field. At least that’s how it was before the plague struck them. Srishti looked like a goddess fighting demons as she wrestled with the two men who towered over her. She blocked their blows with the finesse of a trained warrior. The men tried all their sneaky games, trying to distract her and then grab her. The boy helped as well. But he wasn’t really a match for Kumbhar and his brother, Chittar. At one point, Srishti landed a death blow to Kumbhar, and everyone gasped as he fell to the ground. Srishti climbed on his chest and tightened her fist to land a blow. WHAM! Srishti didn’t feel the blood that gushed out of the wound on her head. All she saw was the world whirling before her eyes. She fell off Kumbhar’s chest onto the ground. Before her world went black, she saw the young boy lying unconscious and Chittar holding a broken glass bottle, standing over her. *** Srishti’s sight had gone blurry when she opened her eyes. It took a few blinks to clear the haze. She looked around. They seemed to be a dark room, where the only source of light was a lantern. Kumbhar and Chittar were nowhere in sight. But she could hear muffled laughter and clinking glasses somewhere above. We are in a basement. She guessed. There were no windows in the room. She tried freeing her hands, which were knotted tight behind. They had bound her up to a chair. Not just her, the old man and the boy were bound there too. “There, she is awake.” The old man said in a weak voice. “Where are we?” Srishti croaked. Her throat was parched from hours of thirst. “Where do you think we are? In the shack. Below it, rather.” The young boy replied. “They are celebrating above.” “Celebrating?” Srishti wanted to lie down. A dull ache throbbed between her brows. As her memories slowly crept out of her mind’s crevices, she recalled being hit on the back of her head. Why did her forehead hurt then? “Yes, you aren’t the first plague-survivor they have violated. We get one or two every two months.” Srishti wanted to touch her forehead. It felt as if something was prodding the insides of head, eating her brains from within. “That’s not possible,” Srishti tried to wrench off her focus from the tingling in her head. “I have looked for others like me who’ve survived the plague.” “Maybe you did not look in the right place,” the old man said. “When the first survivors arrived…men here fought for them like wild beasts.” Suddenly, everything faded from Srishti’s view. Something told her to focus on the center of her forehead. The part between her brows. Srishti closed her eyes while the old man continued his story. “The plague began many centuries ago. I won’t deny; most men are dogs. All they feel is hunger in their belly, or further down.” Images of centuries-old Kallargarh floated before Srishti’s eyes. It was as if the old man’s story had turned visual. “It gives me no pleasure to say that many of my ancestors thought of women as meat. We never saw their value or use except for duties that were considered beneath men. And, of course, their responsibility to sire an heir.” Srishti’s vision showed her a household with men who shared the same facial resemblance with the hammer-hands. She shivered within as she saw how they treated their women. She tried to break away when what she saw turned unbearable. But something had put her into a forced trance. The old man’s voice only escalated the melange of rage, agony, pain, and confusion in her mind. “Kumbhar and Chittar’s forefathers were kings of Kallargarh ages ago. Alongside royal blood, regression and debauchery courses in their veins in abundance. If a farmer could not pay his revenue, his wife had to be sent over to the ruler’s pleasure house. There she stayed till death.” Tears coursed down Srishti’s eyes as the fate of the women in the pleasure house played inside her mind.  “When the plague arrived, the kings of the land laughed it off. The death of a few women was a mere trifle for them. But as the numbers grew from a few to hundreds, and then thousands; they finally took notice.” “What did they do?” The young boy asked. “They prayed hard to their kuldevi* and devta* begging for their mercy.” Srishti shuddered as she saw the idols of the deities to whom the kings of Kallargarh prayed. This can’t be. “The devi* appeared in their dreams, blaming them for the disease. She told them that men like them didn’t deserve women. Soon their land would be bereft of the female species.” The old man continued, “the kings promised to perform penance for all the heinous crimes they had committed against the women in their kingdom.” “Did they really do it?” The young boy asked. “Do what?” “Perform penance?” “They had to. The older king’s wife had passed. The disease had snaked its way into the royal household.” “So, what did they do?” The young boy sounded excited now. Before the old man could answer his question, Srishti spoke up. “भवतः कुटुम्बे सर्वे पुरुषाः भवतः तंत्रिकाः कटयेयुः। ततः स्वस्य रक्तं पात्रे निष्कासयन्तु।” The old man, who was busy narrating the story until now, looked up at Srishti, as did the young man. Her eyes were now open, but her pupils were gone. The strange swelling had bulged up in the middle of her forehead, right between her brows. Her voice was no longer resembled the one they had heard outside some hours ago. It was as if a thousand entities were talking together in an alien language through her. “What’s, what’s wrong with her?” The boy moved closer to the old man as he quavered. “What is she saying!?” The old man gawked at Srishti’s changed avatar and murmured. “All the men in your family should cut your nerves. Then drain your blood into a container.” Srishti spoke again, “कनिष्ठं पुरुषं जीवितं त्यजन्तु। शेषाः युष्माकं मम समर्पणं करिष्यन्ति।“ “Leave the youngest male alive. The rest of you shall offer yourselves to me.” The old man continued translating, even though he had never heard Sanskrit before. He did not know how, but his brain was in tune with Srishti’s. “अहं तव सर्वं रक्तं भक्षयिष्यामि, एकदा मम तृष्णा शमते तदा तव भूमिः शुद्धा भविष्यति।” “I will consume all of your blood and once my thirst is quenched, your land will be purified.” “यदि त्वं मम आदेशं न अनुसरसि तर्हि तव भूमिस्य सर्वाणि स्त्रियः विलुप्ताः भविष्यन्ति । भवतः नगरस्य भविष्यं वन्ध्याभूमिरूपेण परिणमति।” “If you fail to follow my orders, all the women in your land will vanish. Your town’s future will become barren, just like your land.” The old man paused as he felt the eerie hold on his mind cease. “यदा यदा स्त्रियः अस्मिन् देशे अत्याचाराः भविष्यन्ति तदा अहं पुनः पुनः दुष्टानां दण्डं दास्यामि ।“ “Whenever women will be subjected to atrocities in this land, I will return and punish the evildoers myself.” The old man paused and coughed as he uttered the last word. “What language is that?” The young boy’s gaze darted between Srishti and the old man. “It’s an extremely revered, ancient language,” the old man spoke after his breathing returned to normal. Sanskrit, the language of our scriptures. “What’s happening here?” “So…the legend was true after all, not some old wives’ tale,” the old man muttered. “Why do you look so aghast?” the young boy asked, confusion ripe in his frown. “Oh my God!” the old man uttered. “What shall we all do now?” “What do you mean?” They both glanced at Srishti, who still seemed to be caught in another realm. Her unkempt bun had now been released from its knot. In that tiny basement, where a dim lantern struggled alone against the darkness, and wind could not reach; her hair seemed to have been infused with a mysterious energy. Her dark tresses flew like a wild bush in a sandstorm.   The young boy and the old man shivered as they took it all in. And then, the sudden creak of the basement door ruptured their attention. The sound of heavy boots shook the mud walls of the basement and dust flew as the Kumbhar and Chittar climbed down. Their eyes had the same maleficence in them. “Hey, girl. Is that gutsy mouth of yours still longing for more action?” Kumbhar asked and then swigged down the liquor from the bottle he had brought along. Chittar looked like a crocodile in human skin as he surveyed her, lust brimming in his eyes. “Of course, she is ready, brother. Look at her, her eyes are wide with expectation.” “Wide?” Kumbhar squinted. “Don’t you mean white?” “White?” Chittar sat on the ground, legs crossed in a meditative pose. He wondered if he had heard his brother properly. Or if Kumbhar had gulped down more alcohol than him. How could his brother, his partner in crime, not see what he was seeing? There she was, Srishti, the survivor, whom they had beaten at her own game. She wasn’t enraged or trying to break free. Not that she could with all those tight knots they had bound her hands and legs with. But he could see her beatific smile. Those lovely brown eyes with long lashes encircling them. Her flawless bronze complexion that could put the potter’s alluvial clay to shame. He could even smell the sweet jasmine scent her pores emanated. Probably, that was her mating call for him. There was just one funny thing. That bindi* glistening on her forehead. He couldn’t remember if she had worn one when they first tackled her upstairs, outside the shack. “Kumbhar?” Chittar spoke with a slight slur, but he knew his brother understood him. They had had rougher nights together, drunk from an evening till the sun showed up the next morning. “I don’t understand. What d-do you mean by white?” “You’re blind or what?” Kumbhar snapped. “Look at her eyes, idiot! She doesn’t have those big brown circles in them.” Chittar fell to the ground and started laughing like it was the funniest thing he had heard in years. “Big br-own circles….” He clutched his belly and rolled. “Brother, get you-r eyes tested, will you?” Kumbhar swerved at his maniacal brother and kicked his flank. “AAH…why did you do that?” Chittar brows knitted into a tight frown as he confronted his brother. “Something seems off. Look at those two fools,” Kumbhar pointed at the old man and the boy. “What about them?” “They are quiet and scared.” “Of course they are.” Chittar scratched his head. “They know what we will do to them once we are done with her.” “This is why I tell you not to get so drunk that you can’t sense things.” Kumbhar caught a view of the strange bulge on Srishti’s forehead. “Where had you struck the bitch?” “On her head, I told you several times when we were up.” “On the back of her head, is that right?” “Yeah!” Chittar now cried out, irked by the fact that they had still not touched Srishti when she was giving such clear signals. “What’s wrong with you? Let’s just start with her. You take your time, then I will. We can go for second turns, and then—” “Shut up, you fool!” Kumbhar kicked his brother again, this time sending him rolling on the floor. “Look, Chittar.” Chittar blinked at Srishti with deadpan eyes and then back at his brother. “I don’t see anything wrong with her except for the fact that she’s ready and you are being a wimp.” Kumbhar slapped his brother, who fell to the ground again, and then turned his gaze towards the old man and the boy. “You two,” he moved closer to them, “what really happened when we were upstairs?” When the two kept quiet, Kumbhar kicked the boy below his waist, extracting a howl from him. “Stop whatever you are doing, Kumbhar,” the old man spoke in a low voice. “You have no idea whom you are dealing with.” Kumbhar sat on his haunches in front of the old man and looked him in the eye. His lips twisted into a crooked smile. “You think you three can fool me with a snake charmer’s tricks?” he asked. “Those worked on those stupid white men and women whom our ancestors robbed on their way to some summer palace.” “Kumbhar,” the old man lowered his gaze, but continued to talk. “I think you have forgotten the legend that has haunted your family for ages. But I remember it.” Kumbhar searched his eyes to gain a perspective of what the old man was referring to, and then suddenly broke into a brazen laughter. “That children’s story about some goddess? Oh, God!” Kumbhar guffawed as he wrestled to control his laughter. Chittar didn’t hear the old man, but he laughed too. All he cared about was the fun that they would have with Srishti. That alone was a cause for merriment for him. “You don’t understand,” the old man tried to convince the two. “Free this girl, if you wish to see another day.” Kumbhar stopped laughing and glared at the old man. He then squeezed his neck into a tight grip. “Say that again, old man.” “You and your ancestors have committed grave crimes against the women of this land,” the old man spoke even as he tried to extricate himself from Kumbhar’s grip. “Really? Like what?” “You have raped, tortured, and exploited the women of this land for ages. Few of your forefathers were repentant and offered their blood and bodies as sacrifice. Their penance has kept you alive till now.” “Is that what you believe, old man?” Kumbhar tilted his head like a hound sniffing meat. “No one kept us alive other than ourselves. The plague was a natural disaster, like a flood or an earthquake. We never caused it.” The old man shook his head and said, “You are deluded.” Kumbhar waved his hand dismissively.  “Think of the little burials across the entire length and breadth of Kallargarh. Think of the parents who buried their little girls because they feared what men like you would do to them. Don’t you remember the last words of the Kuldevi? *” Kumbhar grabbed the old man’s face in his hand and squeezed it hard. As he shrieked, he whispered in his ear, “and who buried those little girls in the earth, old man? Do you remember?” When the old man remained silent, Kumbhar said, “it was men like you, and your clan. We are kings and we can do as we please with our subjects. To you, our acts might have been sins. But what did you do to stop us? Nothing.” “I have regretted my cowardice every time I have buried one of my daughters,” the old man replied. “but believe me, Kumbhar. This land is facing near extinction. Today we don’t have women who can birth kids. We don’t have a future.” Kumbhar smirked. “It’s not late yet. Let this girl go. Trust me, this one act will cleanse many sins you have committed throughout the years.” Kumbhar kicked the old man hard in his belly, and while he moaned, he lifted Chittar up. “I don’t believe tales, old man.” The old man raised his hand and tried to talk, but the pain in his stomach washed over his words. “Maybe I’m cynical, but I really don’t think any of that stuff works for anyone who is truly broken. Serves us better to just keep barreling forward and hope the demons can’t keep up, so you might as well be who you are.” Kumbhar leaned over the old man as he said. “Chittar,” he hugged his brother, “let’s get it on with the wench. You are my baby brother; you get the first dibs on her.” Chittar grinned like a happy dog. This is what he wanted all this time. He turned to Srishti, whose head hung low. He extended his hand to grab her locks and stepped back as she looked up. Instead of the beautiful woman he had seen a few minutes ago, a creature as red as lava sat there. Her eyes blazed red, and another eye replaced the bindi on her forehead. She sprang up from her chair, letting her binding fall to the ground. Chittar stepped back as fear constricted his chest. “Kumbhar, look,” He mumbled. Before he could utter another word, Srishti screeched like a banshee. Chittar covered his ears, but her scream made his eyes ooze blood. Srishti lunged at him, seizing his neck with her long fingers. Before he could make sense of what he had brought upon himself, Srishti dug her long, black nails into his throat and plucked out his entire spinal cord from his body in one swift move. Watching it all happen within seconds in front of his eyes had stupefied Kumbhar. But the sight of his brother’s corpse lying there mutilated boiled his blood. As he charged at Srishti, she screamed again. Kumbhar felt the world rolling around him as he tried to block her scream from messing with his brains. But then he saw the boy leap before him, like a wild beast. The boy was on all fours. Inside his mouth, jagged fangs glinted. Srishti and the boy circled Kumbhar on each side. Kumbhar cried out for help, but he then recalled he had asked the owner to lock the basement and go to sleep. He tried to wrestle with the two furious beings as best as he could. But each time he moved toward Srishti, the boy bit a slice out of him. And when he tried to get the boy off his body, Srishti ripped out a part of him. Before he knew he was crying for his mother. His blood splashed onto the lantern, making the box-sized basement glow red. *** The owner yawned as he looked at the rising sun. It was time to clean his basement for the new wares that had just arrived. Two familiar faces climbed up as he unlocked the basement. “I hope you had fun last night?” He asked. Srishti and the young boy climbed up with jubilant faces. “Here’s your share. Keep us informed if you come across more of their kind.” Srishti dropped a small purse jangling with coins in the shack owner’s palm. “As you wish, mother.” He bowed his head as she walked out. “Also,” the young boy whispered to him, “you might have to do some extra cleaning this time.” The shack owner smiled as he watched the two of them traipse side by side toward the rising sun. *** Kuldevi*: Goddess Devta*: God Bindi*: Small dot on forehead     Penmancy gets a small share of every purchase you make through these links, and every little helps us continue bringing you the reads you love!