To Love A Murderer | ✔

01 | Prison Walls

Her dagger was at a man's throat.

It glinted wickedly in the silvery moonlight that illuminated her sylph figure. Raven tresses cascaded like a silken waterfall past her ears. Her tawny complexion appeared a warm beige under the silvery rays that lit up the premises of the Vishnu temple.

The man's eyes were wide in fear, his gaze travelling between the dagger that was firmly at his neck and his to-be killer.

The foul scent of fear was in the air.

"Tell me," she snarled past perfect pink lips, "Tell me why should I spare you?"

"I—I have a wife and children awaiting me," he begged.

"Your wife and children would thank me for releasing the burden of such a sinner from their lives!" she spat at him.

The man looked around, helplessly searching for a means of escape. His eyes fell on the murti of Narayana that stood tall and almost menacing over him. SheshaNaaga hovered protectively over his Lord's head, and though his eyes were closed in peace, the murti towered over the man, reminding him of the hellish forms the Preserver had taken to protect his devotees.

Seeing the man's gaze directed towards the Vishnu murti, she hissed at him, "Pray, you foolish man. Pray for your sins and hope that he will absolve you of the grievous sins you have committed in his name. Pray for mercy in your afterlife, because there shall be none in this life."

Saying so, she waited to see what the man would do.

"MahaKaali, Mahadevi, take me into thy embrace! Protect me from this monster!" He pleaded softly and she did not care to listen, allowing the man his last words. No one would ever come for him. Not tonight.

The man struggled viciously against her, but he was no match for her who had already been through this process many times.

A swift death would only be in her—and his—best interest.

Driving the dagger into his neck, she pierced the jugular vein. The man gave a wordless choke of surprise, being unable to form words. Blood pooled around his neck, and she had to readjust her hold on him so that her own dress did not get dirty.

Finally, the man croaked out a word which might have been a name or a plea, but she paid it no heed. His struggles slowed, until his soul sought freedom from his body and all life abandoned it.

Thus another died, on the very threshold of a holy temple.

Pulling the dagger out, she almost nonchalantly wiped it on the dead man's paridhana. And when she was about to drag the body to the forest behind the temple, she noticed movement behind her.

"Lilavati."

The name was spoken with a cool regard, a faint foreign tinge to the voice that was greeting her.

"Iltani," she acknowledged, silently glad to see the woman in front of her.

She had met Iltani many years ago, and the enigmatic priestess in front of her was eyeing the body with distaste.

Iltani wore a flowing white tunic, a golden circlet upon her brow and a similar girdle with a golden eight-pointed star encircling her waist. Her dark hair was bound in a bun, curly locks tucked behind an ear.

She stared down at the dead body with pity in her eyes.

"What did he do?"

Lilavati's shoulders shook with suppressed rage as she recalled what had led her to bring him here. "He swore at Narayana, badmouthing him in every way possible and using the foulest language against his pure name. I am glad such a sinner is dead."