This scene contains alcohol abuse and mild sexual content.
24th of the Hazel’s Frost, 2030 D.C.E.
Ayvarta, Solstice City — Kuwba Oasis Resort
As the sun began to fall, and the sky turned red, the rings were exchanged.
It was not a massive ceremony nor a state ceremony. There was no roaring crowd, no band, no feast, no media. They had no diamond-studded rings and no bouquet to fling. Few people knew of the occasion; fewer attended. Kuwba was their silent witness.
Curtained off with bamboo dividers, the waterside was reserved for the brides and a handful of guests. Standing at the edge of the stone ring around the oasis, framed by the trees in the background, the women held hands and looked at each other fondly, close to tears with joy. Mayor Mazibe said some words, and linked the bride’s hands together, and then stepped aside for them to recite their vows. They were brief vows. Those women, who had fallen in love exiled to a deserted island for anti-goverment activities, knew each other’s vows by heart. They had already been living those vows for years.
They were dressed as bride and groom. Daksha in a sharp black suit, and Kremina in a silver-blue dress. Daksha wore her hair gathered up in a bun, while Kremina had a flowing ponytail ringed with flowers and covered by a lacy veil. Neither one looked her forties and fifties in this scene, in this attire. Both looked like young, romantic girls, openly weeping and trembling with emotion as they held hands and stared longingly at one another. Even before the Mayor started talking, and even after he stopped, the tears would not leave their faces, but neither would their smiles. Under the falling sun, they glowed with a sublime beauty. When they drew in to kiss, even their guests wept.
Parinita Maharani was weeping most loudly, sobbing, covering her mouth with a handkerchief to snort, her makeup starting to run a little around her eyes. She felt small, like a woman struck dumb by the sublime, belittled by a grandeur that shocked her to tears. She was standing in the shadows of giants and she felt completely unworthy.
Madiha Nakar was not weeping, but she admitted to herself that she was near to it. She felt almost nothing coherent at all. She did not have the greatest grasp on her emotions.
Daksha and Kremina broke their matrimonial kiss, held their hands up to each other’s faces, and kissed again. They put their foreheads together and sobbed and smiled. They were laughing, closer than anyone had ever seen them. There was a subdued applause.
“By the power invested in me by the office of the Solstice mayorship, I declare thee both joined in official matrimony!” shouted Mayor Mazibe, so excited by the whole ceremony that he completely mixed his secular, religious, ancient and modern speech together. Everyone was too busy with the bride and the suit-bride, to truly pay him attention.
After the declaration, Charvi Chadgura and Gulab Kajari raised rifles into the air and fired into the distance. They were dressed in matching suits, acting as designated wedding shooters. It was allowed by the resort — they fired toward the empty oasis.
All of it was merely traditional. For Ayvartans the ceremony was truly nothing so grand. It was no joining of a King and Queen. Only the dress and the people stood out.
Two women in love got to have a vulnerable, touching moment beneath a falling sun.
That was all they wanted, and by all accounts, it seemed as wonderful as they dreamed.
After a loving relationship of over 20 years, Admiral Kremina Qote and Premier Daksha Kansal were finally, officially married on the 24th of the Hazel’s Frost of 2030 D.C.E.
Madiha Nakar watched everything with muted emotion, not quite knowing how to behave appropriately or what to say that would be profound. She knew that everything was beautiful and happy, and she knew that she herself felt the swelling of emotion when the brides kissed, and she felt that she wanted something like this for herself.
But it was hard to communicate it in a way that didn’t seem trite, so she mostly kept to herself and Parinita, on the periphery of the ceremony, holding hands and trembling.
“I want a ceremony just like this.” Parinita said. “I want a cozy little venue by the water with a pretty background, a beautiful dress, and a funny little man as the notary.”
Madiha put on a little smile. “We should book this place today, so we’ll get it in a year.”
Anyone could book the hotel now, and so, it was booked very far ahead of time.
“We’ll do it.” Parinita said. Her eyes teared up again. “We’ll live and we’ll shine like this.”
She tightened her grip on Madiha’s hand and Madiha gripped tightly backed.
Their hearts were full of emotion that they could scarcely identify or handle.
Ayvarta, Solstice City — Kuwba Oasis Hotel
“Madiha Nakar! It’s been far too long.”
Kremina Qote extended a hand to Madiha and she shook it, and Kremina laughed in return. Madiha did not know why, and thought perhaps she made some kind of embarrassing etiquette blunder. Maybe she was supposed to kiss her hand?
“Don’t break my bride’s arm, please.” Daksha joked.
Madiha laughed a little herself then, and at her side, Parinita giggled with her.
“I remember when she was just a little courier girl.” Kremina said. “To think she would grow a head taller than me and nearly rip my arm off at my own wedding day.”
“She doesn’t know her own strength.” Parinita said, trying to play along.
“I didn’t pull that hard.” Madiha said, averting her gaze awkwardly.
Kremina patted her on the arm. “Just having fun! Come now, let’s have some drinks.”
Madiha turned to Parinita, who nodded pointedly.
“Come on, of course you’ll drink. It’s practically contractual.” Kremina said.
“Take her up on that or she’ll drink it all herself.” Daksha said. “I’d prefer her a bit sober.”
After the ceremony, Kremina and Daksha relocated to the resort’s Principal suite, their best accommodation, for a short honeymoon stay before resuming their duties. Madiha and Parinita were invited for a meeting before the two lovebirds secluded themselves.
It was a palatial establishment they were given: almost a whole floor of the hotel for themselves, with a kitchen, a hot bath, a game room with pool, darts and shuffleboard, and a bedroom that was passionately red, candle-lit and smelled of sweet incense.
They caught up with Daksha at the foyer, and she took them on a little tour while Kremina dug into the alcohol cabinet, as was her wont. They soon rendezvoused at the dining room, a cozy affair, small and square with the walls decorated with paintings of things like fruits baskets, wine bottles and whole hams. Kremina put out several different bottles of champagne, rice beers, sugarcane wine, and grape wine.
There was also a bit of a spread. Fresh, crunchy vegetables in little cups; small flatbreads; and various spiced dips like lentils, chickpeas, and chutneys.
Before anyone else even reached for a glass, Kremina downed a shot of sugarcane wine.
“You only live once!” She said, slamming the glass down on the table with a satisfied grin.
In no time, she was already pouring herself a second.
Regardless of her drinking manner, Kremina looked stunning at the head of the table. Her face was bright and immaculate, the lines from her eyes giving her a stately beauty that was as well aged as the drinks being served. Her ponytail, already silvery in the past, took well to growing grayer and the flowers around it were fresh. She was well made up, with blue eyeshadow and lipstick that suited her sleek, tidy blue dress. Her shoulders were free, her bust raised up by the bodice. It looked to Madiha as if made of a futuristic metal rather than cloth because the skirt was shiny and unruffled. Madiha was used to big dresses at the very few western-style weddings she had attended in her life.
“I know I can’t stop you, but I can try to empty the bottle before you.” Daksha said.
She seized the offending item from her bride’s hand, and drank directly from it.
“That’s unfair! Well, there’s always the rice beer.” Kremina said, popping a different cork.
Truly they seemed a couple made for one another.
Though Kremina was definitely a sublime beauty, Daksha was no slouch herself. She was reminiscent of her gangster days, sans her iconic fedora, now in Madiha’s possession. Her hair was turning grayer in places, but the gradient-like effect when collected into a bun was attractive; the little lines around her lips and eyes added a regal gallantry to her overall appearance. She wore just a touch of powder on her skin. Her wedding suit was well tailored, with a black coat that accentuated her shoulders, a buttoned vest that was loose enough for her chest but well fitted, and pants that made her legs look perfectly straight. Though she was not quite the wiry brawler that she had been in the past, the Premier was still dashing and handsome enough to match the beauty of her bride.
“Madiha, we have to put up a fight!” Parinita whispered to her.
She picked up the bottle of grape wine and poured Madiha a little glass.
“Social drinking is a contest of wills. We are representing our generation!”
Madiha did not understand the collective madness of the room. Despite this, she drank dispassionately, tipping the contents into her mouth and swallowing, hoping it would please everyone involved. Parinita stared at her critically, until Madiha extended her glass out as if to ask for another pour. This brought a prize-winning smile to her girlfriend’s face, quite a match for those on the giddy brides. She happily complied.
Though it was impossible for them to outshine a pair of experienced wives on their wedding day, Madiha and Parinita certainly tried their best. Madiha herself was wearing a suit, as she was known to do. Her hair, which had gotten long enough again, was tied up in a little ponytail. She had left her coat elsewhere and dressed down to her vest and shirt, which were rather plain, but she thought her height and stature and the gentle smoothness of her face lent her a good mix of boyish-girlish charm. Daksha’s fedora also helped a little to make her stand out. Parinita, however, was the bridal guests’ trump card, in a colorful, traditional Ayvartan garb. She was draped in a purple and gold sari over a matching dress, with a plunging neck and an open midriff. Her strawberry hair was flowing and decorated with flowers, and her gold makeup was immaculate.
There were numerous cheers around the table, and with each cheer, the girls drank.
In appearance, as a relatively young couple Madiha and Parinita could hold their own, but it was quickly becoming clear they were amateurs at drinking. Madiha quickly developed a headache, and Parinita was drinking shamefully slowly, trying to mask that she was a lightweight. Meanwhile, between the two, Daksha and Kremina had nearly disposed of the rice beer and sugarcane wine, and taken notice of the snacks too.
“This is too hectic.” Madiha said. “I need water.”
Parinita drooped her head and put down the bottle. “I submit also. They’re too strong.”
“Like the…second act villain?” Madiha whimpered.
“If you’re going to steal my lines, you’ll need to do better.” Parinita said weakly.
Across from them, Daksha and Kremina were giggling, chatting half-sentences and interrupting each other, the alcohol clearly starting to unwind their brains.
“Ah, if only, if only, Anatoly, Anatoly right? He was the guy?” Kremina said.
“It wasn’t Anatoly. I killed Anatoly. He was a rat.” Daksha replied.
“Okay, not him. There was a guy. A guy who drank well, remember?”
“Kremina, we knew a lot of guys.” Daksha said.
“I wish Anatoly, was here. I’d drink him to shame, that rat. I’m invincible at drinking.”
“I told you it wasn’t Anatoly who did anything. You wouldn’t drink with Anatoly.”
“We knew a lot of guys, you say. None of them here at our wedding! How rude!”
Daksha looked at the floor for a second, shaking the bottle of wine, stirring the remnants.
“A lot of them– well, they can’t help it. A lot of them died. They can’t help it.”
Kremina held up a glass. It was empty. She put it to her lips like it was full.
“To the dead!”
Daksha, her head bowed still, lifted her bottle. “To the dead.” She said, much less eagerly.
“You know who was a good drinker? Lena Ulyanova. Fantastic drinker.”
“Such a tiny body, could hold so much alcohol. It was death-defying. I was still better.”
Daksha shook her head. “If Lena Ulyanova was, if she was–”
“I said if Lena Ulyanova was alive, things would be different.”
“Yes, they would be.” Kremina poured a shot, half on the table. “She wouldn’t be dead.”
“That would be big indeed. But I think she would know get people to do things right.”
“We’re doing things right. We got married finally. We stopped living in sin.”
“I mean, things of the state.” Daksha said. She held up a bottle. “To Lena!”
“To Lena!” Kremina drank her shot.
“Bah!” Daksha put the bottle down, and it toppled over on the table and would have spilled had any decent amount of liquid remained in it. “I’m a lousy cheerer, Kremina. Lousy at drinking, lousy at cheering, lousy at everything. Lena was a genius. I’m lousy.”
Kremina patted Daksha on the shoulder, and with amazing technique, managed to leverage the gesture into a grab, taking the back of her head and pulling her down into a kiss. It was very sloppy, given she was juggling a mouthful of beer as well as her wife’s tongue, but somehow Kremina managed it, and a shocked Daksha played well along.
When their lips parted, Kremina put her forehead to Daksha’s chest.
“You don’t have to be a genius. I don’t want a genius! I want someone like me who understands being trampled and overlooked. I think the people, they want someone like that too. I think these kids need that too.” She turned to look at Parinita and Madiha.
Groggily, the two girls had been watching the exchange, without input.
At the mention of them, they snapped to attention.
“All the geniuses went and died in their lofty dreams. We’re normal people who are making a world for us. That’s our job now. And we’re doing it well.” Kremina said.
Daksha rested her own head against that of her wife. “I hope you’re right.”
They held each other there, weeping lightly, for seemingly as long as they had drank and rambled before. Madiha and Parinita did not know what to say. So they said nothing.
“To the kids!” Kremina let out an anguished cheer, launching her glass overhead.
Everyone scurried for cover. Everyone agreed to stop drinking after that.
Madiha and Parinita left the table less drunk than the brides, but also less confident.
On the foyer there was an old matchlock rifle hung up on the wall.
Madiha had to train with one of those so-called classics in the Academy, for purposes of procession duty. She despised it. Temperamental, slow-firing. Powder was easily ruined, the bullets were old and deformed and sometimes the barrel interior deformed too.
“I know you hate everything old, because your head’s poisoned by efficiency.”
Daksha stood beside Madiha and stared up at the rifle on the wall.
Parinita had gone to look after Kremina, who was, for what she claimed was the first time in her life, taking her drinking poorly and laid up in bed. Madiha wondered if it was time to consider the wedding ruined and perhaps plan a makeup, but she did not voice her concern. She had walked idly around the suite, trying to shake off the alcohol in her own head, when she was taken in by the curious token in the foyer. Then Daksha had caught up. They had been wanting to speak for a long time, Madiha knew this, she knew this desire was shared. However, there had been no good opportunity until now.
“Well, we have better rifles now.” Madiha said. “We could use those for procession.”
“These are historic. They remind us of something.” Daksha said.
“They remind me of how poor these old rifles were.”
“You can be such a child sometimes.” Daksha laughed.
“What is the message supposed to be then?”
Daksha looked up at the rifle with a weary expression.
“For the Empire, these rifles represented pride. For us, they represent sin. You wield those rifles in procession to remind you to be respectful of the tools your predecessors used to commit evil. You toil with them so you understand that even with those weapons they slaughtered countless people, and that you must not just look at it as a mere tool.”
Madiha averted her gaze. She already thought of that quite often.
She just did not think of it during procession at school.
“We should consider a lecture element to procession then.” She said demurely.
“We should.” Daksha sighed.
She contemplated the rifle and crossed her arms, and began her own impromptu lecture.
“That style of rifle was imported by the Ayvartan Empire from the Elves. The Empire claimed all of the territorial Ayvartan continent for itself, including the south, like Adjar, Cissea, and Mamlakha. But they didn’t have the power to back it up, until they exercised one strength that nation-states have over tribes and villages. They engaged in diplomacy with an equal nation, a nation that taught them armed conquest the likes of which the world had never seen before. And just as the Elves spread over Afarland, Borelia, Nort, Helvetia, Mauricia, and so on, the ethnic Arjun of Solstice spread across Ayvarta.”
She referenced two historical ethnicities in Ayvarta. Down South, it used to be the Umma, and in the North, it used to be the Arjun. It was different now. There were all kinds of people everywhere. There was a third catch-all category, created for the Imperial census, called “Zungu,” people who were mixed with ‘white’ or ‘foreign’ people. There were various other ethnicities often unacknowledged. The Hudim, for example, who practiced their own unique religion and were considered an ethnic group; the Zigan nomads; various Barbar tribes in the desert; the Mamlakhs themselves, the Cisseans, and so on.
All of those peoples and territories were beyond the grasp of Solstice once again.
This time it was not an Arjun empire that conquered them, nor was it by their own hand that they were made separate from the rest of Ayvarta. It was the Nocht Federation.
“A lot was done to the Southern peoples, hundreds of years ago. Socialist Solstice has tried to make up for it here and there. We teach what we have of the Umma language, we incorporated it into the Socialist Language Standard. I named the KVW that way, a lot of the Unions, to pay homage to their language group as best as I can. And we also let the South practice self-governance as a bloc. A lot of things were overlooked that way, but it’s what the people wanted there. It’s the least we could do to make up for the past.”
Madiha found questions of ethnicity difficult to answer, but she understood, as one trying to make up for her own past, the need to fulfill those sorts of reparations. She did not hate anyone nor did she think she oppressed anyone for their ethnicity and as a good socialist she tried to be conscious of all kinds of social positions and relations, such as those of class and race and sex. But she remembered Mansa; she hated him completely, and she despised the things that he stood for, and all that he did to her and to Ayvarta.
However, the growth of his power independent of Solstice made sense when one considered the history of ethnicities in Ayvarta. His people looked up to him as a strongman who wielded Umma power in a majority Arjun world. They loved him because he positioned himself against an Arjun orthodoxy that was seen as ineffective and untrustworthy. Even if it had been the Ayvartan Empire who committed the sin in the first place, Solstice in general was tainted by it, and Solstice’s socialist project, as the successor state, had to be the one to make amends. Perhaps they didn’t do enough.
It was all such a mess.
“I really don’t know what to say that.” Madiha finally admitted.
Daksha cracked a little smile.
“I guess it’s unfair for me to act like we’re both complicit. I’ve always thought of you as an Arjun because of your physical appearance. But I honestly can’t know. And at any rate, it isn’t your place to do anything about it. I was the one who was supposed to save everybody from the tyranny of the Empire. I feel like I ended up failing at that.” She said.
The tyranny of the Empire, she said–
It jogged Madiha’s memory. She thought of how her birth was something of a mystery.
And Mansa, too, being on her mind at the same time–
“I am really sorry for everything Madiha.” Daksha said. “We used you. I struggle every day thinking of the backs we built this country on. You were just a child, and I ask myself, is all of this really worth all the desperate measures that I took to build it–”
Quite suddenly, Madiha turned to face Daksha with serious eyes.
“Am I Empress Ayvarta II, Daksha?”
She almost expected to be shot at that moment, in some dark, lurid corner of her mind. Certainly it was a shocking question to ask, and at such a moment too. At least it allowed her to dodge thinking about the question of ethnicities, which was always fearful and puzzling. And it had been on her mind for far too long now, her status. She had been afraid since hearing the insinuations from the villains she came across in Rangda, and since remembering her role in the chaos of the Revolution. She had been afraid that if she was actually some long lost noble child, she was undermining socialism by living.
So, thinking all of that, she expected Daksha to dispose of her, to end the royal line.
Instead, Daksha grinned and shook her head. She looked like she had tears in her eyes.
“On the census, you keep putting down Madiha Nakar every few years. If you want to change your name, you can do it without saying scandalous shit like that.” Daksha said.
She smiled, but there was indeed a glistening of tears she was fighting off.
Madiha chuckled. “I guess you’re unbothered by the whole thing, huh?”
“Did you expect differently? Madiha, I think of you like a daughter. I don’t know where you really came from and I never checked. To me, that doesn’t matter. Didn’t we want to erase class, sex, ethnic discrimination and all of that? Isn’t that socialism? Hell I don’t know my own ethnicity really. I was born in the South. I might be some quarter Umma or something, who cares? I never had the privilege of my ethnicity but I identify as an Arjun to make amends to people who were far more oppressed than me for far longer.”
Daksha turned to her and put both hands on her shoulders, looking into her eyes.
“You’re what you decide to make of yourself. No matter who your parents were. Even if you end up being the long lost Empress, you killed your father. There’s no Empire now. On the census, I could put Umma or Arjun. I decided which and why. You can too.”
Madiha nodded her head solemnly. There was a lot on her mind still. This was not such a liberatory thing to be told. After all, even knowing all of this, and being given a choice, she still did not know what she truly wanted to become or what she could become at all. She just knew what she was good at, and what she was interested (or obsessed with).
She supposed that she had no choice right now but to fight this war.
So she could defer thinking about everything else when there was peace.
“At any rate, why am I being so gloomy on my wedding day?”
Daksha shook her head and picked up the matchlock from its place of honor.
“You know how to use this, of course.”
Madiha nodded. She could use any weapon by touching it. Ever since she was a child.
“Lets have a little contest then.” Daksha said.
Under the matchlock there had been a stack of plates, and a pair of boxes.
One contained charges, the other contained balls. It was a shooting kit.
“I never miss.” Madiha said apologetically. “So, I cannot lose.”
“Bah, don’t be so full of yourself.” Daksha replied. “If I can’t win, I’ll tie you.”
“It would be a moral victory.” She said.
“It will be!” Daksha corrected her.
They went to the roof and twenty plates later, Madiha handily won.
She was not even able to throw the game for the bride’s sake.
Madiha was just not capable of throwing games.
“I’m truly growing old. My youth has absolutely left me. I’m decrepit — a crone!”
Kremina Qote bemoaned her misfortunes in the grand bedroom arrayed for her and Daksha’s honeymoon night. Dressed in full wedding regalia, she lay against the pillows with a hand over her face, tossing and turning, the blood drained from her face. She had drank too much and it made her sick. She claimed this was an unnatural occasion, an ill omen. Parinita did not know that she and Daksha had met because Kremina had fallen dead drunk and essentially got them captured by the Imperial police. She believed in Kremina’s fierce drinking reputation and told herself it was a pity that everyone aged.
“Here, drink this. Drink all of it, Mrs. Kansal. Even if you dislike the taste.”
Parinita came back from the kitchen with a mug of honey-ginger tea and a big piece of salty breaded paneer, fried quickly in ghee. She dropped the cheese plate on the dresser beside the bed, and handed Kremina the mug. “It’s a traditional cure. I vouch for it.”
Her patient moaned and protested, but eventually started drinking the tea.
“It’s awful! It’s got too much ginger!” Kremina said, recoiling from it.
“Trust me, my grandmother knew a dozen hangover cures, but this is what she did when she was hungover herself. That’s how you know it’s the real one.” Parinita said.
Kremina frowned, staring down into the mug. She took another belabored sip.
Parinita pulled a chair up to the side of the bed and sat down. She did not need to read Kremina’s aura to understand how badly the bride must have been feeling. She looked quite worse for wear. Parinita felt like saying ‘it wasn’t even that much alcohol’, but she was playing the role of the healer. Wounding her patient even further would be cruel.
“Ugh, what a way to start my honeymoon.”
Once more, Parinita’s more vicious side wished to retort with ‘you did this to yourself.’
Instead she said, “I come from a family of faith healers! You’re in good hands.”
“Well, it turns out I don’t have faith in healers!” Kremina moaned.
She took another drink of the mug and shut her eyes hard, and clenched her teeth.
For a moment Parinita felt like the bereaved heroine of some comedy flick, caring for her whining mother in the first act to establish a dysfunctional family relation and her drive to escape into a bawdy adventure. Then the hero would arrive and sweep her away.
Unfortunately for her, Madiha was in the other room, already arrived, and unhelpful.
Still, even her current attitude couldn’t mar Kremina’s newlywed radiance. Parinita was stuck by how majestic the two of them looked. This must have been such a massive relief for them, and such a long time coming. Surrounded by tragedy and with the weight of the nation on their shoulders, they finally found the opportunity and courage to make themselves eternal to one another. Their auras had been so brilliant at the wedding that Parinita cried, overwhelmed by their beauty. Truly it was the power of love at work.
It was almost like film. Perfectly shot and directed, beautifully acted. A real fantasy.
Parinita’s fantasy; not that seeing it in the flesh made it feel any more achievable.
After all, Kremina could look like an actress, but Parinita was always her boring old self.
Still, she was quite moved by the day’s events. She was smiling like a bashful little girl.
“Ma’am, I’ve been wanting to congratulate you personally. I was so moved by the ceremony. I really want to know how you two made it so special. There was something in the air, everything was charged with electricity! It was like film, it was perfect.”
In truth there was a part of Parinita that really wanted to have a girly talk session with someone like Kremina, an elegant, sapphic bride to a strong and constantly engaged woman. She wanted to compare notes, almost, to share experiences in loving women and being loved and having a relationship that could lead to a wedding. She had never been able to talk to her grandmother and certainly not to her mother, and the closest other confidant she’d ever had was Logia Minardo — a regrettable person for that role.
Kremina looked upon her with renewed interest and cocked a little grin.
“It’s all the resort, it’s very lovely. You should put in your reservation soon. It’s very popular, and they really only do weddings now that there’s no tourism.” She said.
Her piercing gaze put Parinita quite on edge.
“Well, I’m not getting married–” She said.
Kremina leaned forward with a conspiratorial expression on her face.
“Trust me, you two should not wait. There’s no sense in waiting.”
Suddenly, Parinita remembered that she could have no such discussion with her.
Parinita and Madiha were not fully open with their relationship, mostly because it was scarcely a month old and they were in the military, and in the same unit. In fact, Madiha was technically Parinita’s boss, which made the whole thing look even worse to outside observation. While it was almost an open secret, people who suspected said nothing, and people who knew, like Logia Minardo, were on their side and not keen to expose them.
So it behooved Parinita then to act dumb when Kremina pressed her.
Though the Admiral and the Premier were like family to Madiha, Parinita did not know how strict they were on her. They might not see the relationship as fully appropriate.
Her own parents would have definitely tried to scare Madiha away!
So she thought, she had to keep this as hidden as she could from Madiha’s ‘parents.’
However, her beet-red face and awkward, averted gaze made everything too clear.
Kremina quickly tried to disabuse her of any fearful notions.
“I see right through the two of you.”
Parinita was so stunned she couldn’t think of what to say.
“Whatever do you mean–”
“Why would she invite you here? Madiha always goes to parties alone, if she goes.”
“She’s not that anti-social–”
“Madiha’s never had a lot of party-going friends. She’s a private sort of person.”
Parinita briefly choked up. “Well– how do you know she–”
Kremina raised a finger to Parinita’s lips, quieting her.
“I know she’s a sapphist. She had a girlfriend before. Perhaps she has another.”
Parinita mumbled nervously. “She has friends, we’re just very good friends–”
She found herself denying everything out of impulse.
Meanwhile, Kremina seemed to be living this moment to its fullest.
“Hey, why don’t you two stay the night? There’s a guest bedroom.”
Kremina rapidly changing the subject threw Parinita entirely off-course.
Staying the night with Madiha in this gorgeous hotel full of silks and wines and candles, in a relatively private room all the way across from the brides, where nobody would bother them. An entire night just to themselves in the most sinfully lavish luxury–
Parinita blinked, quivering. “Why of course, we can’t turn down such generosity–”
“You’ll share one bed, you know. It’s only got one bed.”
Parinita started to shake, and clenched her fingers on her skirts, her face red hot.
“I suppose it can’t be helped–”
“We don’t really have a change of clothes either, so you’ll be a bit exposed.”
Parinita fanned herself. “We’re both girls, it’s okay–”
“Why it’s like your very own honeymoon night, if you were like that of course.”
“It really isn’t–”
“Just you and her, one bed, nothing but robes, warm incense, anything could happen.”
Now she was truly the heroine in a bawdy romance comedy, exposed to the audience in a moment of pure farce. Defeated, revealed to be impure, and laughed at by all.
“You win.” Parinita was shaking with embarrassment at the salacious thought of taking Madiha bedding her in the brides’ guest room. “Are you teasing me or really offering?”
She raised her hands to her face, wearing a crooked, demonic smile.
Kremina reached out and played with one of Parinita’s long locks of strawberry hair.
“Madiha is very lucky! You’re pretty, funny, and passionate.”
Parinita wanted to sink into the earth, but could not truly deny any of that.
At least the latter part of it. She almost thought Kremina would say perverted.
“Oh come on, why are you shaking so much?” Kremina said. “You don’t have to be afraid of me. Daksha and I are both in the military too and nobody will object to it. You should probably keep the secret from your subordinates, in an official capacity, so that you set a good example for them. But you don’t have to keep it from me. I do want to help you.”
She reached into the drawer on the bedside dresser, and produced a key.
She flicked the key over to Parinita. Then she picked up the paneer and took a bite.
“Now this is good stuff. This tea tastes like motor oil, but paneer can’t be done wrong.”
Parinita smiled and faked a little curtsy. “Even someone as useless as me can do it.”
She pocketed the key and felt a little cloud starting to loom over her head.
She felt ridiculous and inadequate. It had all been in good fun for the brides, the drinking and the teasing, but Parinita, she thought if any of it had been serious, then yes, she would not have kept up. She was a bad drinker, a bad liar, a foolhardy girlfriend. She looked fine in a dress, maybe a touch too chubby to really pull it off, but that was it.
“Why are you all gloomy now?” Kremina asked through a mouthful of cheese.
Parinita took a deep breath. “Madiha isn’t lucky, I’m lucky she pays me any attention.”
“What’s this all about?” Kremina asked. “Are you feeling well? Do you want tea?”
She swallowed her cheese and tried to push the mug of tea back to Parinita.
“It’s just difficult standing among titans sometimes. I feel unworthy.”
Parinita pushed the mug back toward her with a sigh.
Kremina smiled warmly and laid back on the bed, looking up at the ceiling.
“And you think I don’t? I’ve never been half the woman Daksha was.”
“Weren’t you listening when we were all drinking? We shared some wisdom then.”
Had she known Kremina possessed similar insecurities, Parinita would’ve said nothing.
“I’m being gloomy on your wedding day, it really isn’t right.” Parinita said.
“Weddings are beautiful and cheerful, but they are also gloomy too. Thinking about the future is gloomy. And after all the glitz and glamour, you wake up in bed with another person and you have to think about your life together, about all the rest of your life.”
Kremina sighed deeply, but then she sat back up, and she took Parinita’s hand.
“Listen, how you feel about yourself doesn’t reflect how your lover feels. She loves you. To you, she’s your Madiha and you’re her Parinita, and that’s what matters. I should know. I’m a mediocre Admiral who is now married to one of the most powerful women in the world. And Daksha thinks she’s mediocre and foolish and all that too. I make her feel different. She makes me feel different. I bet Madiha thinks that you are wonderful and she is a slug. I bet she doesn’t understand why a beautiful woman looks at her at all.”
Kremina caressed Parinita’s cheek and put on a warm, motherly smile for her.
Parinita smiled a little back. Under that smile, however, she was still worried. These were words that were easy to hear and be comforted by now, but to truly believe them, to deprogram years of living as someone who had to make herself verifiably ‘valuable’ to others in order to live with herself. It felt like fooling herself, like living a terrible lie.
She loved Madiha with all her heart. From that fateful day, when the war started, it was almost like insanity. All the world went insane and she went insane also, and she came to obsessively love a warrior with the world’s strongest, strictest, most insane sense of justice. Someone who stared madness in the face and made miracles happen, not for herself, but for those around her who couldn’t. She grew close to her and discovered her vulnerable side, her charming side, the little moments of sarcasm and levity that could be extracted from her, and the naive wonder with which she beheld certain things.
She grew to love her even more, to want to know everything about her, to want to know her as a person and not an idol, and to want to be by her side forever to see the world that her dark eyes envisioned. She wanted to quell the fire that was killing Madiha from the inside; to save her. But in the back of her head, she told herself, ‘I must get stronger for her, I must be useful to her.’ She could not live in Madiha’s world without strength.
Because she loved Madiha and wanted to remain at her side, to see the justice in those fiery eyes and to love the tender shadow cast by that pyre, she had to reach her level.
Perhaps, instead of being gloomy, she could at least try to be determined instead.
“Thank you, ma’am. I’ll take your words to heart.” She said.
It was a sincere as she could sound then.
Kremina laid back on the bed and put a handkerchief over her face.
“Good. Just remember three things. Let her win sometimes; pretend she’s in the right sometimes; and let her be on top if she wants to. That’s my time-tested wife advise.”
Parinita’s hand clutched the little key Kremina gave her, and she averted her gaze again.
“I’m going to do my best too. Even if I’m drunk and sick, this is my honeymoon.”
Kremina put the mug on the dresser.
“But I’m not drinking that. I’m sorry.”
“What if I told you the tea is what has made you so lucid these past few minutes?”
She hoped to get one over on Kremina at least once.
Kremina shook her head. “Fine. I’ll let you have this one.”
She reached over the dresser and took the mug back with a heavy sigh.