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Ram missed his father. He missed him with each ragged breath he took for those four years in Delhi, with each bullet he sent back. Which is to say, Ram missed him very much.
Ram did not allow himself to grieve his father. He had never heard of a marksman grieving his target. And- and it was respectful, right? To try and fulfill the last wishes of the people who were on the verge of death? He'd heard of letters to mothers and lovers from the death row. He'd heard of hasty marriages- 'beta, I wish to see you married to this person before I die!'- and hastier children- grandchildren. So, he didn't find it odd that he'd lived his whole life honouring his father's last wish. It was what sons- what children did, right?
So he became a soldier. He swallowed up the gr- anguish and turned it into fire. He swallowed the pain and made it his power. He took what he felt and made sure it was delivered in double, triple, quadruple- a hundred times over- to the Buxtons.
And then, he didn't know what to do.
That was it. His mission was completed. His work was done.
What now? He hadn't planned for after. He hadn't expected to live. All he had in his plans for the future was apologizing to baba in the afterlife.
Well, at least he was a good son.
In those first few months— without anyone giving him orders, without anything to control him— it was difficult to- to stay afloat, to stay grounded, to function. Bheem helped. Bheem always helped.
He helped when Ram woke up sobbing, babbling apologies to anyone and everyone. Bheem could only recognize his own name, but he wasn't a fool. He was clever enough to guess who the other names were. So, he never asked Ram. He helped when Ram sometimes teared up without rhyme or reason, wiping every trecherous tear that escaped, holding his hand through the emotions that Ram was allowing himself to feel for perhaps the first time since- since- since you killed your father, rama, a voice in the back of his head would whisper. Ram felt like a helpless child, just like he was on that day.
Sometimes, Ram felt like time had stopped on that day. Like his soul had contracted and receeded deep inside him, tightly coiling up, allowing him to become the soulless, emotionless, soldier he was, allowing him to complete his mission. Backing away from him in disgust and horror after what he did, making him soulless and cruel. He did not know how to unspool it. How to let go.
He wanted to. He was trying so hard.
What was his penance, what was his atonement?
Bheem was casual when he first said it. "Why are your muscles so tight, bangaram?" He massages his back and arms, but the tightness doesn't go away. Ram doesn't know if it ever will. When he holds Bheem, the younger man goes lax in his hold and falls asleep and snores. It's adorable. Ram has never slept deep enough to snore. His brain runs in circles. Killer, a voice inside him says. Murderer, another whispers.
You know, I’ve heard of something called the Spirit stone. A stone that lets those who cast eyes on it heal their deepest hurts. A stone that lets those who take it repair their broken spirit. A stone that can put ghosts of the past to rest. But they also say that it is seen only once every 150 years. Only those who truly need it chance upon it, and once used, it’s gone again. No one knows it’s true nature, no one really wants to find out.
They spend hours— days, lying in bed together. They eat. Ram can almost pretend everything is normal. That he is a functional human being. And it's not even like he is completely lying! At least he's not lying as much as he was when he was special officer, or when he was Raju. Baby steps, right? That's what Bheem said to him. He'd take off all the masks one day. And- and Bheem needed to recover too! (from what you did to him). So Ram kisses every scar and leaves when Bheem wakes up with eyes too wild and hair too sweaty and tries not to collapse from the guilt— “Raju, your guilt won't change what has already happened,” Bheem had said one day— and didn’t reveal the darkness that lay inside him. It isn’t the right time, he says. Not yet. Maybe one day? Maybe.
“Rama, your mission broke your spirit It’s time to fix it.” Bheem says.
One of those days, they are taking a walk in the forest when it happens. The trees form a tunnel and the dappled sunlight on the forest floor formed intricate patterns better than any palace architechture.
“Bheem! Look, at this rock!” Ram says. “It’s so pretty!”
Bheem’s brow furrows.
“Hey, what happened?”
“If it is what I think it is…..” he trails off.
“What do you mean? Bheema- Bheema tell me!”
It looks mostly ordinary, blending into the normal rocks of the land it appears in, but catches the eye of who it is intended for. And while it might be ordinary, it is beautiful, shapely like no other and makes the user have a transcendental experience, connecting him with the ghosts of his past and healing old hurts. If he holds the stone in his hands, tightly, he will be transported to another realm where the ghosts of his past find peace.
Ram listens to Bheem with rapt attention as he tells the story, his eyes darting around, confused.
“Rama, the stone found you. Take it,”
“There’s- there’s probably someone who needs it more than me, you know?” Ram shrugs. “I’m fine,”
“If there was nothing troubling you, you wouldn’t even have seen the stone,”
“Right. Yes. Magic.” Ram says tersely.
“Rama,” Bheem says again, his voice sharper this time.
He’s getting impatient with you, he’s going to be tired of you now isn’t he- the voice in Ram’s head began. Ram managed to get that pesky little thing to shut up.
“Fine,” Ram says, kneeling down on the grass, hesitantly reaching for the stone. His hands, which hadn’t shaken even when committing unspeakable atrocities were now shaking like leaves in the wind. He looks up at Bheem, who nods encouragingly. His hands scratch his curly mane, nervous, looking for something to do.
“Well, I’ll-”
And as Ram gripped the stone in his hand, the world seemed to disappear. Well, not exactly disappear- it grew soft around him, almost like in a dream. He was back in his childhood home, sitting cross-legged, leaning against the wall. And in walked his father-
His hair was white.
Ram knew this was a dream. Baba had not lived long enough for his hair to turn white. He looked at his clothes- a shorter, more comfortable dhoti, a loose tunic, a strip of cloth holding his long hair back. He was home. And he was grown-up.
“Baba?” Ram choked out, his voice breaking on the word.
“You completed your mission, then?”
Ram didn’t really know what to say.
He had brought weapons back to his village, he- they had killed the Buxtons. Bheem, though. How was he going to explain all that to baba?
“You look tired, Rama, you should do something fun! Take a slingshot and shoot down some mangoes or something,”
“Baba,” Ram huffed with a smile. “I’m not a child anymore!”
“Right. Right. Well, did you marry? Did you have children?”
“No, I….” Ram began.
Baba burst out laughing at the fact. “You look so flustered Rama, really, you haven’t changed,”
LIES! Ram wanted to burst out. He had changed so irreparably, so completely, that he didn’t recognize himself anymore.
“But I have,” He settled for saying softly. “I mean- Seetha and I, we barely talk anymore. I moved,”
“You two were so sweet together, though…”
“I don’t know what to tell you, I know you wanted us to marry each other, but-”
“Hah, that’s alright, this happens,”
An awkward silence stretched between them.
“I knew only one of us could get out. It had to be you,” Baba said, breaking the silence.
“Why?” Ram asked in a broken voice.
“You had a future!” Baba said, almost as if that fact was obvious.
“You were young too! It hadn’t been that long since you married amma, right?” Ram countered.
Baba fell silent at the fact.
“WHY DID YOU NOT LEAVE ME TO DIE? I HAD NOTHING! NOT MY PARENTS, NOT MY BROTHER!”
“You had my brother…. and Seetha….” Baba began, but trailed off.
“You thought they could replace you?”
“No. But they were the next best thing, they were the only ones who I thought would get you to forgive yourself,”
“Well. I never did. If you wanted to know.”
“Forgive me- I placed too heavy of a burden on your young shoulders…..”
“You didn’t have a choice!”
“And I left you with none,” Baba said quietly. “The situation was so hard on both of us. I tried to find a better solution, but I could not come up with one,”
Ram’s lip quivered.
“My child, you were smart enough to survive, and succeed, and take others along with you,” he continued.
Ram scrunched his eyes shut and tried in vain to swallow the lump in his throat. He shook his head, trying to get the words out, tell baba about how he had been a ruthless traitor to his country, how he had whipped Bheem within an inch of his life, how he had almost died- Each admission of guilt an attempt to absolve him of things which had been forgiven a long, long time ago.
“Raju- raju!” A hand on his shoulder. Someome was shaking him. “Rama!”
Ram opened his eyes and gasped like a drowning man pulled out of water. The illusion broke. He was back on the forest floor. The violet stone had turned grey in his sweaty palm.
“Bheem-” He whispered brokenly, still trying to hold back his tears.
Bheem simply extended his arms for Ram- like a lifeline, like his saving grace, like redemption, and for the first time in years, Ram felt a knot in his chest unravel.