The link to the song mentioned in the chapter is given above. Do listen to it, even if the language is unknown. It is a beautiful song and it was constantly replaying in my mind while I wrote the chapter.

Nindiya na aye...

Nindiya na aye...

Raina beet jaye...

Shyam na aye...

Raina beet jaye...

(I am unable to sleep...

I am unable to sleep...

The night is passing...

But Shyam has not come yet...

The night is passing...)

The soulful music of the song and the sizzle of oil broke Bhairavi's slumber. Rubbing the tears from her sleepy eyes, she stared around blearily and then smiled. Summer was lying right next to her chest, drowsing away. The cat never seemed to leave her alone, and she liked it more than she would admit. As her eyes fell upon the clock, she scrambled up. It was nine o' clock! Time seemed to be rushing by today.

Getting up, she avoided waking the cat and walked towards the kitchen. Namma was cooking dinner and the aroma of garam masala and ghee pervaded the room, making her stomach lurch with hunger. She realized she had forgotten to eat lunch again. Namma seemed to feel her presence, as she said without turning, "You missed your lunch, baccha."

No scolding, no harsh words, yet Namma's parenting was effective through and through, for her displeasure was displayed through disappointment, and anybody who had met Namma would understand how painful it was to disappoint her- the most loving, caring, considerate human on earth. Feeling guilty, Bhairavi waited for a chance to explain, for Namma to face her, but she continued, "I know how hard things are for you, but not eating is not going to solve anything. Or change anything."

Physically striking Bhairavi would have had less impact than those words. "I do not force you regarding therapy, or doctors, or even your choice to drink alcohol alone in your room."

A stunned Bhairavi stared. "But the least you can do is eat, take your medicines, and try to live a little. At least for my sake, if not yours. I know you are an adult now, but I would appreciate it if you kept this one...request of mine."

Tears of shame and indignation fell on her cheeks, Bhairavi was angry at Namma and herself. At Namma, for being so sweet and considerate and selfless all the time, at herself for being so selfish and inconsiderate. All this time, she had been so invested in her own grief that she had not noticed her grandmother mourning the loss of a carefree granddaughter as well. The sweet, chattering, happy Bhairavi had died in that accident. Namma was saddled with a silent, surly, distant Bhairavi who barely cared about anything but her own self, her own pain, her own loss. Every thing only about her own self. Bhairavi felt suffocated by guilt.

Turning around, Namma faced her with a stern look but it changed into one of concern and care on seeing her crumpled face. Hugging Namma, Bhairavi let her tears flow and thought hard about how badly she wanted Namma to understand how sorry she was and how she would try to improve and not be so selfish. The pendant suddenly grew hot against her throat and Namma jumped back and stared at her in shock, "Baccha, you just spoke! You spoke finally after a month! Oh my, please please, just say something again. Anything. "

Bhairavi stared at her, dumbfounded. She had not uttered a word. Seeing the disbelief and confusion on her face, Namma said with pleading eyes, "Not the apology, you have nothing to apologize for! Just...just say something. My ears are dying to hear a word, a syllable, anything from you for a month!"

Finally, on seeing her dumbstruck, Namma seemed to realize her folly, "You did not say anything? But the apology I heard..."

Bhairavi rushed to the living room to get her notebook and pen, her heart racing. She had to confirm the idea sprouting in her mind. Quickly writing on a page, she ran back to Namma.

'This is what I wanted to say,' she signed and handed the paper. It read:

'I am so sorry for being so self absorbed in my own pain and grief, forgive me, Namma. I promise to try and improve and not skip meals and all. I love you, Namma.'

"But...but...that is what I heard you say. You....how....I don't understand. You must have signed and shown it to me....yes, that is possible. You must have been trying to explain when I thought I heard your voice and you ran to write and explain it all to me....yes that must be it."

A shocked Bhairavi stared at Namma as she justified the reality by reorganizing her memories, completely forgetting the hug.

What on earth was going on. And why did the necklace grow hot each time something weird happened. Confused, Bhairavi tried to smooth her expression, she would think about it later. 'What is for dinner?' she signed, 'Am hungry...sorry. Won't miss lunch again'.

Smiling, Namma brushed her fingers through Bhairavi's uneven, chopped hair, "I know, baccha. Take a seat, I will give Summer her food and then serve us."

'Can I help?' Bhairavi signed, not wanting to let her mind be idle. Namma's smile widened, "Oh, well, you can wash our dinner dishes and get the table ready, if you wish."

'Okay.'

While setting the table, Bhairavi did her best to prevent her thoughts from wandering. She ate half of the food served, an achievement since she barely ate nowadays, and kept the rest of the food aside. She would give it to the old beggar outside college tomorrow.

Excusing herself, she was going to her room when Namma called her, "Baccha, wait, I brought dessert, remember? It's your favorite, chocolate pudding."

Bhairavi's chest tightened in remembrance and she rubbed it to ease the pain. Maa used to make chocolate pudding, using Namma's recipe. Turning back, she received a small bowl of it and took it to her room to savor it slowly. Summer followed her lead.

Shutting the door, Bhairavi sat on her bed and spooned some of the pudding onto her tongue. Her eyes shut in ecstasy and grief. The taste was so similar to that of Maa's. The only thing different was that Maa used to add some cinnamon in her pudding, maybe that's what made it unique for Bhairavi, the one special ingredient.

Finishing the small bowl, she took it and washed it in the kitchen. Namma was watching TV in the living room. Not wanting to disturb her, she tiptoed across the room. Just as she was about to enter her bedroom, "Bhairavi," Namma called out.

Biting her tongue, she peeked out of the door, she really wanted to be left alone for the night. "Baccha, I know grief cannot be shared as such. And that you might like drinking alone. But...if you feel comfortable, someday, have a glass of wine with me? That is all I can palate, I am afraid."

Shaking her head in amusement, Bhairavi wondered what good deeds she had done to deserve such a cool grandmother. Seeing the crestfallen look on her, she quickly realized her folly and signed, 'Yes. Yes. Soon.'

Namma's bright smile returned, and she wished her good night with such delight that Bhairavi scolded herself mentally for delaying in giving an answer. The late evening nap had energized her and she did not feel sleepy at all. So she decided to look up on the internet about telepathy and mind reading, something realistic and not completely nonsensical.

Two hours, ten videos, and a splitting headache later, Bhairavi gave up. The internet did not have anything remotely realistic or non fandom oriented, regarding telepathy and mind reading. Neither science fiction, nor spirituality seemed to make sense in her case. Irked at her own foolishness and expectations, she decided to make herself a glass of cinnamon milk.

Walking into the kitchen through the dark living room, she peeked and saw Namma's bedroom was shut. Good, she must have fallen asleep. Best to not wake her up and trouble her unnecessarily. Treading softly, she took out some milk and decided to heat it on the stove. The microwave would be too loud.

While heating it, she turned towards the spice cabinet to take out some cinnamon. Stirring a little into the milk, she let it simmer before taking it off the stove. After taking out her mug, she set it on the kitchen counter and then noticed the chit lying beside a covered mini dish.

The chit read: "Forgot your pills. Saw your room's light was on so knew you would come to get some milk later. Swallow the pills. There is a small reward for you, if you do so. It is in the topmost left drawer."

Curious, Bhairavi swallowed the pills with a long sip of the milk before opening the drawer. In the drawer, lay a packet of Strawberry Crème Oreos, her favorite.

Grinning for the first time since the accident, she took it out and carried the milk with her to bed, after scribbling a 'thank you' on the back of the chit. Stretching herself on bed, her headache throbbing away, Bhairavi decided to read the book she bought today.

Taking it out of the paper bag, she gazed at the cover for a while, before opening the book. Dipping a strawberry Oreo in milk, she put it in her mouth. The warm milk with cinnamon, the sweet strawberry cream and the soft, warm Oreo biscuit seemed to take her back to carefree days, when sneaking midnight snacks was a regular habit of hers. As she began reading about the first Mahavidya, Maa Kali, her mind kept wandering back to the fifth name on the list of contents of the book. Maa Tripura Bhairavi.

A/N

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Love,

Kaushiki