Chapter 3
Chapter 3: Wanderer
Mikalya’s P.O.V-
For nearly a century I''ve been roaming this Earth, wandering through differentnds, watching time
fly past. People changed, empires rose and fell, India gained its independence, new generations
were born and the older ones died out. An endless cycle of life and death that seems to stretch on
forever and ever.
But even though the world around me has changed so much, I''m still trapped in that cold winter
night from a century ago when a young girl had to not only grow up, but do something that no child
of fourteen should ever have to dream about. A cold night painted in deep, dark red that even the
darkness couldn''t hide. Screams so loud and painful that it echoed throughout thends. And
then....silence.
What had hurt more than the scream was the endless silence. Silence now buried under thousands
ofyers of sand. No one remembers Mouri anymore, as if it never existed. The pack that I had
been born in had liked to travel, liked to kill entire packs and take over theirnd, only to leave it in
ruins a few dayster when all the previous packs ie had been spent on alcohol and their
women had given birth to the next generation. If there was one thing I was thankful for, it was the
fact that my pack had had no more children during the time I’d burnt it to the ground. Only boys in
theirte teens who had taken pleasure in raping their own sisters. They had deserved what was
coming their way.
Today, I once again stood in the samend that had once been my version of Hell. But when I
looked ahead now, I can see a small thriving vige that is now a tourist spot. I saw several women
in colorful ghagra-choli’s (an Indian dress worn mainly in Gujarat and Rajasthan) with wide smiles
on their faces as they led the other tourists to their shops where they sold such simr dresses,
hand woven bed sheets and dolls made of y or straws. It was and filled with color and
prosperity and hope.
When Rafael had been Alpha, he’d treated women like disposable dolls, not letting them wear
anything other than torn rags, but he’d mostly kept them naked and let the men do as they please.
He had insulted the very foundation of our world. To humiliate women in and where the people
call our country "Matribhumi" (mothernd), and where Goddesses Durga ( Mother Goddess),
Kali (Death Goddess), Saraswati (Goddess of Knowledge), Lakshmi (Goddess of wealth and
prosperity), Annapurna (Goddess who provides us food) and several women are considered
mothers, Goddesses and are worshiped every day; his crimes had been unforgiveable. But as I’d
learnt soon after, he wasn’t the only one.
Not just humans, but the world of shifters is dominated by males. Females are still only fit to work in
the kitchen and give birth to their children. Although now I see several women getting educated,
taking up jobs and running their families with capable hands, they still do not have as much freedom
as men.
But who am I to specte? I’m just a lone wanderer who keeps roaming throughout India, not
staying in one location for more than ten years so that the humans don’t start questioning why I
don’t age. I’ve worked odd jobs at several cities and viges and have managed to make a fortune
for myself, but the saddest part is, I don’t have any family to spend that money on.
Oh, who am I kidding? I don’t have family alright, but I have someone who has tagged along with
me my entire life. Ruksaar. The only other survivor from Mouri.
She had been extremely excited to visit her birthce but as soon as she had gotten on the ne,
the hot steward had grabbed her attention. That was why, at present, I was standing in this small
town that had once been Mouri and Ruksaar was in her hotel room with the steward, fornicating.
It’s not like I’m a virgin. Wolves are sexual creatures just like most shifters, so I’ve had my fair share
of lovers that have sometimessted up to a couple of years, but we also have mates. And we can
only have children with our mates. Unfortunately, I’ve never once found a mate in my one hundred
and twenty six years of existence; and frankly, I don’t n to find him either. And to think that
Mother Nature had burdened us with not one but several mates to choose from…it caused a
shudder to run down my spine. But with Ruksaar, it was different. She preferred one night stands to
something a bit more permanent.
“Sorry,” I spoke to the sand, where I’d burned the remains of Ruksaar’s mother. “You’re probably
regretting sending her off with me.”
But no one answered and I knew that Ruksaar’s mother hadn’t had a choice. It was either I save her
daughter from the scorching mes or let her die along with everyone else in the vige. And I’d
decided to keep her with me rather than abandon her at an orphanage. She was pack; she was
blood.
“I thought we were here on a vacation!” I turned to find Ruksaar wobbling over a dune, trying to
cross over to me without getting sand in her shoes. “Why are you brooding in broad daylight?”
“Sorry, I haven’t mugged up the brooding manual yet.” I shrugged as I debated entering the vige
or turning back and heading back to our hotel. “That was awfully quick.”
Ruksaar huffed as she came to a stand next to me. Her long ck hair hung in loose curls to her
waist and she was wearing a ghagra-choli in bright green mixed with blue. Her skin was dusky;
almost like milk chocte and her big almond shaped dark brown eyes were looking at the ce of
her birth with interest. She had no memories of that night, of course. That’s why I didn’t see her
show any signs of recognition. But thisnd was etched in my memories forever, just like the night
we had escaped it. And I will never be able to forget it, until the day I die.
“Come on, jiji,” Ruksaar linked her hand through mine and began dragging me towards the vige.
“I’m starving. Let’s go eat something spicy.”
“Everything here is spicy.” I told her, remembering one of the dishes my mother used to feed me.
Both Gujarat and Rajasthan were known for their spicy food, as well as their unique culture and
ancient castles.
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Hand in hand, we both set foot into thend that had never weed women with the pride and joy
we deserved, but with fear and anguish. As old memories swirled, I crushed them down with sheer
strength of will. The past was in the past. I will not let it ruin the future.