Chapter 3: chapter 3

The village lay nestled in a hollow, surrounded by fields of golden grain and hedgerows thick with bramble. Smoke curled from thatched rooftops, carrying with it the scent of woodsmoke and boiled lentils. For Sanmayi, the sight was a strange juxtaposition of serenity and desolation. She had never seen such a humble place; nor had she ever imagined she might one day seek its sanctuary.Her sari was coarse and plain now, a far cry from the silken garments she once wore. Her hair, once braided and adorned with gold, hung loose and unkempt. Vasudha had instructed her well: "Hold your chin low. Speak little. Let them think you a widow or a wanderer; both are common enough in these times."Now Vasudha leaned heavily on her arm, her wound poorly dressed and her gait unsteady. They had arrived under cover of dusk, slipping into the village like whispers."Is there an elder we might speak to?" Vasudha asked a young man who was leading a scrawny goat to pasture.He eyed them with suspicion, his gaze lingering on Sanmayi. "Who’s asking?""A nurse and her niece," Vasudha replied. "We’ve come far and have nowhere to go."The man grunted but pointed toward the largest hut at the center of the village. "Speak to Ahalya, the matriarch. She’ll decide what’s to be done with you."They made their way to the hut, Vasudha clutching Sanmayi’s arm for support. Ahalya greeted them with narrowed eyes and a face etched with years of toil. Her hair was streaked with white, and she leaned on a gnarled staff."You bring trouble, I can smell it," she said bluntly."Only ourselves," Vasudha answered, bowing her head. "We seek refuge, nothing more. I can offer my skills as a healer. My niece is strong and willing to work."Ahalya studied them in silence for a moment. "Stay the night. But know this: strangers bear the weight of proof here. Earn your place, or leave."Sanmayi’s pride bristled at the dismissal in the woman’s tone, but she held her tongue. Vasudha’s warning echoed in her mind: A high head invites sharp blades.---The next day, Sanmayi awoke to a village alive with activity. Women carried baskets of millet on their heads, men hauled water from the well, and children chased each other barefoot through the dirt lanes. She sat by Vasudha, who was too weak to rise, and watched as life unfolded before her."You’ll not learn anything sitting idle," Ahalya said, startling her."I am tending to my aunt," Sanmayi replied stiffly."And what will you do when she’s gone?" Ahalya retorted, her gaze piercing. "You think the world will pity you? It will only trample you further."Sanmayi flushed but rose to her feet. "What would you have me do?"Ahalya thrust a clay pot into her hands. "Fetch water from the well. And don’t spill it; every drop is worth more than your pride."Sanmayi bit back a retort and obeyed. The pot was heavier than it looked, and the trek to the well left her arms trembling. When she returned, the older woman merely nodded."Good. Now go and help Gauri with the sick."---By midday, Sanmayi found herself in a cramped hut where a woman named Gauri was tending to a boy with a fever. The stench of sweat and sickness hung heavy in the air."Pass me that rag," Gauri said, not looking up.Sanmayi complied, wrinkling her nose."You’ve never done this before, have you?" Gauri asked, her tone bordering on contempt."I’ve... had servants to tend to such tasks," Sanmayi admitted before catching herself.Gauri raised an eyebrow but said nothing, handing her a bowl of herbal paste. "Apply this to his chest. Gently, or you’ll make it worse."Sanmayi hesitated but did as instructed. The boy stirred, his small face scrunched in discomfort, but his breathing grew steadier."You’ll do," Gauri muttered grudgingly.The day wore on, each task more humbling than the last. Sanmayi scrubbed floors, carried firewood, and assisted Gauri with patients whose ailments ranged from infected wounds to malnutrition. By the time the sun set, her hands were raw, her back ached, and her stomach growled incessantly."You did well," Vasudha said weakly when Sanmayi returned to their corner of the hut."I feel like a mule," Sanmayi grumbled, sinking to the ground."A mule survives where a stallion falters," Vasudha replied.---Over the weeks, Sanmayi’s hands grew calloused, and her pride began to erode like stone under a relentless stream. The villagers were slow to warm to her, but they no longer averted their eyes when she passed. Some even greeted her, though their smiles were guarded.One evening, as she sat outside weaving mats with the women, a man approached the group, his face lined with worry."Have you heard the news?" he asked."What news?" Ahalya demanded."Kosala has fallen," the man said grimly. "Ranajay’s armies swept through like fire. No mercy for the old or the young."Sanmayi froze, the mat slipping from her hands."Kosala resisted," Ahalya said, shaking her head. "That was their mistake. You don’t fight a tiger with a stick.""But they say Ranajay’s not just a tiger," the man continued. "Some call him cursed. Others say he’s a man torn in two—one side a beast, the other..." He trailed off, glancing uneasily at the women."What other side?" Gauri pressed."A prince," the man said, almost reluctantly. "A prince who hesitates, even as his armies destroy. They say he spared a village once, though none know why."Sanmayi’s heart clenched. Could it be true? Could there be something human beneath the monster she had envisioned?That night, as she lay on the cold earth beside Vasudha, her mind churned with questions. Hatred had been her anchor, steadying her in the storm of loss and fear. But now, doubt crept in like an unwelcome guest, loosening her grip on that anchor."Do you think a man can be both cruel and kind?" she asked softly.Vasudha’s eyes flickered open, weary but wise. "A man can be many things, Sanmayi. Kindness and cruelty are not opposites—they are neighbors, often sharing the same heart."Sanmayi turned her gaze to the darkened ceiling. The life she had known was gone, buried beneath ashes and blood. But in its place, something new was taking root.Humility. Grief. Resilience. These were her companions now, as inseparable as shadow and light. And though she did not yet know where the path led, she vowed to follow it with unyielding resolve.