Chapter 4: The Foreigner
Abhay’s P.O.V
I took another shot of the women sewing together a brilliant bed sheet with needles and threads and then checked the photos for clarity. This was going to be the most amazing project I’d ever done for the Lifestyle Magazine.
The brightness of the colors contrasted well with the whitewashed buildings and brought the women into sharp focus. My new Nikon FM2 had cost me a fortune but it was worth every dime I spent and the whole night’s wait in front of the shop.
And it was lightweight and easy to carry. I still had a few longer, high resolution lenses in the duffle bag that I’d left back at the hotel, but since I was just walking through the vibrant marketplace and taking close-up shots, it was easier to carry a lightweight camera.
It was about three o’ clock on a winter afternoon but the sun was beating down on all of us mercilessly, although I was the only one who seemed to be affected by it. I wiped away a bead of sweat from my brows with a handkerchief and cursed myself for wearing a leather jacket in the middle of the day.
I looked around at the stores and street-side vendors and decided that going into a dhaba (an eatery) was a better choice than standing in this heat and watching myself melt. And besides, I hadn’t had lunch yet so it would give me a much needed break.
But first things first, I walked over to the group of women sewing together to get a closer shot of their work, which…I needed to buy for my mother once my work here was done. There were about nine women, everyone sitting in a circular formation around the sheet they were sewing, and they seemed to be having a pleasant time doing their job.
They sat with their back to a small one storied house, all wearing colorful ghagra-choli’s along with red coral bangles to signify their marital status. All of them had their dupatta’s covering their head and half of their face so you couldn’t tell if they wore vermillion on their forehead or not, which in India was a sure shot way of telling if a woman was married.
Gingerly, I asked them if it was alright for me to take their pictures or not, because most women in this part of the country were conservative as Hell and it would be rude to get their photos in a magazine without asking for permission first.
The women seemed willing to let me take pictures so I helped myself by hunkering down next to them and taking several close-up shots of their crafts. The workmanship was even beautiful from up close and I made a mental shopping list of things that I’ll need to take home to my parents and to my brother and his new wife.
The threads they used were a bit on the thicker side and required mean-looking, big needles and the colors they had chosen for the red sheet were all in varying shades of green and white. It provided a nice contrast and really brought out the designs. As a photographer, it was my duty to bring out the best camera angles and the group of women were not only co-operative, they enjoyed the mini-photoshoot just as much as I enjoyed filming it.
I was also able to find out that they ran a local boutique store just around the corner and sold several other things that they hand-crafted themselves. So I noted down their address and promised to return soon to buy some of their products before I returned to Bombay. Happy that I’d accomplished part of the job, I made my way down the street, on to my next mission.
Finding the nearest dhaba only a couple minutes away, I ducked down under the shade of the asbestos sheet covered ceiling and plopped down on one of the nearest tables I could find. I placed my camera on the table and poured some water into a steel glass from a pitcher and drowned it in one go. Feeling instantly refreshed, I picked up the plastic bound menu card and began scanning through it, looking for something non-spicy to have for lunch.
“Ready to order, Saabh?” A waiter came to ask me a couple minutes later, wearing a white kurta and a multicolored turban, as most men did in Gujarat.
“Haan.” I nodded and pointed out a few delicacies that looked the least bit spicy. After all, you can never go wrong with rice and daal, right? “And get me a big glass of chaach (buttermilk) to go with it.” I told the man in Hindi and broken Gujarati, but he understood and wrote down my order before telling me he’ll be right back with them.
The chaach arrived first, garnished with spices and presented in a glass so tall, I could’ve easily just drank the whole thing and skipped lunch; and then came the daal chawal. What I hadn’t expected though, was the amount of green chilies floating in the pulses.
Carefully I swirled my finger in the middle of the lump of hot rice on my plate and then poured the daal into the well that I’d created. I made sure not to pour all the daal and reserved some for later, depending on the spice level. Then I picked up a small portion with my fingers and placed it into my mouth.
The burst of fiery heat was instant and within a few seconds, I had drowned half the glass of chaach and was still panting from the heat. “Fuck! That’s going to be a painful time at the loo.” I rasped under my breath.
Sometimes I hated the fact that I had such a low tolerance for spices. I had a huge sweet tooth, but when it came to heat, even black pepper was too much for me sometimes. Which is why when I saw a foreigner enter the dhaba along with a Guajarati girl, I felt a sense of pride that at least I had a better spice tolerance than the white haired woman.
Wait, white haired?
My head whipped up to stare at the woman in awe. At first I’d thought that she might be an old woman given the color of her hair, but now that I was looking at her closely, she hardly looked younger than twenty five. And now that she was inside the shade of the restaurant, I could see a slight difference in her hair color that I couldn’t tell at first glance. It wasn’t white…it was a metallic white, almost silver.
As if feeling my gaze on her, her head whipped in my direction, her eyes piercing right through me to the depths of my soul. For a few seconds, the world stood still. All I saw were her icy blue eyes, the same color as the ocean on a bright sunny day. But even though the color was bright, I felt a chill run down my spine. I shuddered, but I couldn’t break eye contact.
She was beautiful…absolutely gorgeous. But there was an iciness around her that could freeze someone to death. It was like she was closed off, too reserved and unaffected to care about anyone else, and yet the way she took a step in front of the Gujarati girl, while taking a seat a couple tables in front of me, was almost protective.
She was also very tall, almost six feet, which meant she would be almost the same height as me. And I could almost feel how good it would be to have her tucked under my chin, to feel her soft skin under my fingers, to kiss those delicious pink lips…
Dear god! What was wrong with me! I’d never thought of something like this before…then why was I so intrigued by this one woman?
And just like she’d read my mind before, she must have done so this time as well, because her icy blue eyes sparked fire at me and the world began to move again.
And I was finally able to break eye contact with her.
Chapter 5: Illusions Abhay’s P.O.V For a couple of seconds, I felt flabbergasted. Yes, I was a healthy male of twenty seven with a proper sexual appetite, but I’ve never imagined myself naked and in bed with any women. I was brought up with parents who had taught me that in our culture, sex before marriage was not the right way to go about it. And I’d always believed in that principle. Yes, I’ve had a couple of relationships in my life. Once when I was in high school, with a girl about three years younger than me, we had drifted apart after I left school to join college. My second relationship had been in my second year of college, with a girl in my class who had shared my enthusiasm for photography. But we too had drifted apart right after I’d landed a job at Lifestyle Magazine as an intern and she had left for Calcutta to work for The Daily Telegraph. But I’ve never had any physical relationships with either of my ex’s. We had kissed, yes, I wasn’t that much of a saint, but we h
Chapter 6: Reality Mink’s P.O.V No. NO! This cannot be happening and especially not now…not here! Ruksaar chatted on beside me without a care in the world as we both walked briskly back to our hotel. She was blissfully unaware of the torment that was going through my mind as I balled my hands into fists, my claws slicing out to pierce the delicate skin of my palm. The wounds would heal even before they were formed and I wished with all my power that my mind could work the same way. But his image was now imprinted in my mind and it’ll stay right there until the day I die. Mate. The bloody word tasted like poison in my mouth and I tried to suppress the shudder that raked through me, but to no avail. Wide almond shaped eyes the color of topaz, with more gold than brown; they were eyes of a cat. His hair had been a dark shade of brown that appeared almost black. I could picture it in the sun, however, with a brown tint to it. It would be soft to the touch- I reined back my thoughts
Chapter 7: Desert Snow Abhay’s P.O.V It was snowing. The ground was completely white. It had snowed overnight and now the tiny yellow blossoms that looked like miniature sunflowers were buried under three feet of fresh snow, their petals crushed under the heavy weight. It was going to be a long, cold year ahead and the snow has only just begun. I looked at the waterfall in front of me, untouched by the winter chill. Jharna, that was what we called it. The literal Hindi translation of a waterfall, but it just sounded right to us. It was freezing outside but I knew it would be nice and warm inside the pack house. It would also be noisy. But I liked that noise. It was welcoming. It was home. Something dropped to the ground then, at my feet. I looked down to see what it was. It was only a speck in the vast sea of snow but it stood out amongst the white. It was in the shape of a tiny drop but the warmth coming from it melted the snow a little, caused a slight dent as it was absorbed i
Chapter 8: Cruel Fate Mink’s P.O.V I watched four men approach us from the other end of the desert. Each one was wearing the traditional Gujarati dhoti-kurta along with the multicolored turbans. Their stance was rigid, their expression harsh. One hundred years later and the world hasn’t changed all that much from since I was a child. Shifters are still a male dominated species, not much different from the patriarchal society that humans live in. I often wonder what it was that made men so special that they thought they could rule every aspect of everyone’s lives. Be it humans or shifters, women were always looked down upon. I could understand the theory behind this discrimination with humans, but shifters? Shifters were strong and that strength didn’t discriminate between male or female. The highest I’ve ever seen a female shifter rise in rank was a beta in a deer shifter pack, which was pretty unconventional considering that most of the deer packs comprise of females with one big
Chapter 9: The Meeting Abhay’s P.O.V Since I had gotten up well before sunrise, I decided to first clean up and then quickly changed into some loose fitting comfort clothes so I wouldn’t boil under the sun like I had yesterday. After I was ready, I packed up my camera so I could head to the desert for some shots of the sunrise. I locked up and caught a motor van ride into the desert along with some other men and women who were heading to Jaipur. I was also able to get a cup of piping hot tea on the way, along with some biscuits that I enjoyed in the cool morning breeze as the motor van left the cemented town road and entered the bumpy desert road. I found a suitable place to get off and waved the other passengers goodbye as I hoisted my backpack over one shoulder and headed toward the desert to find a suitable spot for taking pictures. Once I’d found a spot, I set my backpack down and began taking pictures of the sun as it rose above the d
Chapter 10: Indefinable Attractions Abhay’s P.O.V “There you go!” Ruksaar skidded to a halt as soon as we entered the village perimeters. “We’ve helped you find your way back safe and sound. It was nice meeting you, Abhay! But I guess it’s time to part ways.” “D-do you guys w-want to go for lunch?” The words were out before I could stop myself. “Consider it a thank you gift for getting me here safely.” Ruksaar’s sister gave me an irritated glare from over her shoulders while Ruksaar clapped her hands together in excitement. I’ve never seen a woman as disinterested in me as Ruksaar’s sister, and yet, it felt like there was this invisible rope that was binding us together. The more time I spent near her, the more I felt drawn to her. And that was probably why I felt the need to stay near her longer than I had intended to. And what better way to spend time knowing them than to invite them to lunch? Or was it brunch? “Thank you, Abhay!” Ruksaar skipped over to me and linked her hands
Chapter 11: New Encounters Mikalya’s P.O.V “Mikalya?” Do you sense that? Ruksaar’s mental voice rang loud and clear in my mind. Yes. I told her. It’s definitely a wolf and a strong one. I’m guessing a Luna. But why would a Luna be here in the middle of nowhere? Ruksaar asked. Are you sure there’s no longer any packs living here? In this entire state? If there were, then the falcons wouldn’t be the only pack trying to confront us. I told her. This is another rogue. But with a child? That’s surprising for a Luna to be out and about with the future heir just hanging off her arm. But I don’t sense another wolf, Ruksaar said. How could you sense the child? Are they the thieves that just stole from the kitchen? I think so, I told her. But I can’t be sure. The child’s aura is very mild but I can sense it. I think it’s a submissive. There weren’t any wolves in town before today; I think they arrived just now. Let’s go check. I got up from the chair along with Ruksaar…and halted. Abha
Chapter 12: Follow thy Heart Mikalya’s P.O.V “My name is Kashmira Shaw and I’m from the DawnFrost pack in Jammu.” It was later afternoon, after we had returned to our hotel room with Kashmira and her son and helped dress her wound that she had gotten while trying to cross a fence this morning. The wound wasn’t infected and her healing had already kicked in, so she should be fine in a few hours. We had ordered room service and had our lunch together and it was only after she realized that we weren’t out to hurt her that Kashmira finally decided to tell us about herself. Now, we all sat on our bed in a circle and sipped on some karak chai (strong tea) as she breastfed her baby, whose name we learned was Kushal. She had gotten rid of the clothes she was wearing earlier, since they were torn and dirty, and now she had one of Ruksaar’s ghagras on and her face was uncovered. Now that I could look at her face properly, I could tell that she was very young, too young to be carrying a bab