Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

 ín whích twσ pєσplє вєαríng nαmєsαkєs σf gσds cσnvєrgє tσgєthєr, ín α plαcє whєrє єvєn thєír sєcrєts hαvє sєcrєts.

∷∷•∶|❂|∶•∷∷

He came to the club with three of the newest recruits from just last month while two of the more seasoned ones waited by the entrance to serve as both surveillance and protection.

Growing old taught Ganesh the value of patience especially where leisure is concerned. There are hardly any more games to win; Mumbai was conquered. It was a city that has recognized time and time and again that crime and gunfire paved way for its thriving commerce to this day.

And so, tonight of all nights, its king will strive to blend among the common folk, regardless of the entourage still trailing behind him. These boys were always so eager to please, heeding his every command with a resounding affirmation no matter how anxious the smiles they'd give him in exchange.

To sit at the far edge of the club, obscured by the shadows amidst the dancing lights gave Ganesh the much needed repose and isolation he craved, though not necessarily anonymity itself. After all, there is hardly anything small and inconspicious about Ganesh Gaitonde.

The women on the platform continued to shed what little garments they had left. Their skins also glowed, alternating between luminiscent and harsh depending on which angle they spin and twist their bodies in. Ganesh watched them until all four women blurred together. His boys were by his back, no doubt trying to enjoy their nonalcoholic drinks even whilst they secretly desired for something that will intoxicate.

The tradition of sobriety among G-Company was still upheld. Senior members staunchly reinforced it to upon the recruits, knowing that when a group sacrifices something together, they can grow together as a unit and become a real brotherhood. It certainly worked back in the old days.

Ganesh honestly stopped caring. So long as these motherfuckers can do their jobs even if they were shit-faced drunk, then who was he to impose? Even an old don like him knew how to let go of some control.

And Ganesh was indeed getting old. Next week he'll be forty-four. He plans to forget that tonight and hopes to drown himself in the company of an elusive woman of his choice. So far none of the candidates interested him, regardless of their physical features. An attractive face with a great body to match it was hardly the only thing he was looking for at the moment.

There has to be a quality to the woman which would entice him to spend time and money in their presence.

Ever watchful, Ganesh scrutinized each of the females on stage and the ones walking around to give lap dances in personal booths. The tacky disco ball somewhere above him cascaded colors across his serene face, causing the intense look in his dark eyes to ever deepen.

He absentmindedly twisted the gold ring with a ruby gem on his middle finger. It was a gift from his late wife of long ago and a real good luck charm.

Perhaps he would need it during this patient search.

✶⇢⇢

Faith endures in the most unlikely ways, even in godless places such as the city of Mumbai.

Oh, yes, people still have their temples and mosques and chapels for every devoted Hindu or Muslim or the occasional Christian, but faith here often comes in bargains now; like a few alms spared for the poor whose wealth lies in their fervent hope they could have had better lives.

Before the Great Flood and the final separation between divine and mortal, Ishtar never ran out of followers to pluck from; those who feasted, fucked and killed in her name, kings, wives and warriors alike. She commanded them with the sway of her hips akin to the capricious storms of fate, and blessed indeed were they to worship the goddess of Conflict and Desire.

But then the feasts dwindled although the battles still raged on, except they were dedicated less and less in her favor, until one awful day Ishtar did not have temples anymore either, or loyal men or women who whispered her name during coitus. New rulers usurped their fathers and brought their own pantheon of gods with them, and so she was cast aside along other deities who fell too.

The achingly beautiful and unattainable Ishtar had now become just another forgotten relic of a misremembered past.

And so she fled to the Indus Valley, embittered yet grateful to accept the scraps handed by the gods who still reigned supreme in that part of the continent. They never said an unkind word in her presence, but Ishtar knew their generosity disguised the condescending nature of how they perceived her; they thought she was so small now and slowly losing her divine glow.

They were right; that was the worst and most hurtful part of it.

Again, she just chose to keep silent whilst she lived in forced seclusion among deities who found her pitiable yet useful nevertheless.

And all around her the world moved on.

She wasn't among the four women in the platform at the moment who danced and stripped for the vultures surrounding them. Instead, Ishtar was hidden in a booth with her own personal pimp, currently being bartered to a patron who could afford the steep price of possessing her for one measly night.

Dusky and refined, Ishtar was draped in a beige fabric so thin that it revealed a few freckles on certain spots and outlined every curve of her ever youthful body. A multitude of gold and colored bangles chimed on her wrist as she moved her arm to gesture here and there. She had also put on a lacy burka to highlight her mystery in spite of the state of semi-undress.

'A meek-slash-wily Arab girl in her twenties who is more experienced than all the whores in Mumbai combined' is how the pimp always advertised her to clients. 'She is both song and fire to your loins, if you can afford it.'

Ishtar's impressive figure rested upon cushions covered in silks and decorative feathers; they reek of weeks-old perfume to enhance that she was indeed an exotic flower to be plucked. Behind the burka, she was bored, her movements sparse and lethargic as she gestured to her pimp mutely to communicate.

Three men had already come and gone and tried to haggle the price, but ultimately none of them could buy her after all.

With a soft exhale, Ishtar shifted on the cushion. She wanted to rise and get a glass of water for herself, and she didn't feel like bothering her pimp about it. So she stood up once said man left and started to argue with someone by the barstools.

The flickering lights of the disco ball bathed everything with dizzying colors that she found ugly somehow. Ishtar was so caught up admiring the women on stage, however, that she forgot she was immobile for a few minutes out there in the open.

Seeing them reminded her of the rites in her temple long ago, when women would freely display what was in their power to give before jealous and terrified men came to belittle and make them forget that power.

Lost in rumination, Ishtar suddenly placed a hand across her burka as if to stifle a scream of anger that wanted to spill out of its confines. Her chest boiled with that same rage, and it made her eyes see dark spots as she stood there.

Silence has been her friend for two millenia now, but in that moment she wanted to abandon the numbing compliance of it so she could once again choose war.

⇉❂⇇

The restlessness started pooling in his gut, almost comparable to arousal though not quite. Ganesh kept scratching on the armest as well, a telling sign he itched to smoke a joint or two. But he abstained yet again, knowing that he could hardly perform when under the influence.

A drug haze, apparently, was never a good friend to his erection, and the old don came here in hopes that there's a woman who could bring out that side of him even for just one night. Tonight was supposed to be special after all.

But, then again, if Ganesh Gaitonde wanted to simply fuck, he already had a pimp on retainer he could call. Jojo only brings in high-end whores; mostly young starlets who want to make it big in the Bollywood industry, but they would require the financial backing of, say, a crime overlord, to even land a starring role.

Ganesh had 'produced' said films before. He had one favorite, this Zorya girl, who was young enough to pass as his niece. She was strong, opinionated in a way that gets her in trouble, and it was what won him over in the first place.

It was an unspoken truth that he was always drawn to exceptional women who knew how to tame his beast.

But tonight was supposed to be special, so no, he didn't want the usual transaction of sex to tarnish the occasion. So what then? Why was he here, in the red-light district, surrounded by made-up dolls and among ever-hungry men?

His answer came to him in a flash.

Ganesh turned his head to an angle at the right time and saw her.

Dressed in fine fabric that's almost translucent, especially under these lights, the woman stood almost frozen on her spot. She has her face concealed by a decorative burka. He highly doubted it was for religious purposes, not when the rest of her was barely covered.

He stopped digging his nails onto the leather armrest and instead leaned in, with elbows upon his knees. Something in Ganesh wanted to call to this beautiful illusion to make sure she was real. But what could he say to make her turn towards him?

Suddenly he felt like nineteen again. Back then he was just a boy green behind the ears, exploring the many dangers and secret trades of Bombay. His weapons are solely his ambition and the feeling of invincibility associated with cocky adolescence.

And now, almost three decades later, here he is; just another weary king bored of the enterprises he had accumulated, of the power he could still wield due to his reputation and the reinforced violence of his subordinates. On this special night at least, he was also only a widower because on this same night twelve years ago, he had lost Subhadra.

It took losing his wife for him realize that power is useless when you have no one else to fight for.

So, what does he really have to lose?

Ganesh rose from the couch and walked towards the hooded, semi-nude woman. He held her gaze with that same unmatched intensity he used to be known for in his youth.

He leaned close to whisper into her ear:

"You probably know who I am but tonight I will give you more than just money. So take me wherever you wish, and I'll follow."

✶⇢⇢

In the end, the scream did not come. Ishtar was able to keep it at bay after all with her hand cupping her throat through the disguise of the burka. She was unaware of everything else since her eyes have fluttered shut and her chin was pointed downwards.

She still could not move nor did she have any desire for it.

When she at last lifted her gaze, she met the eyes of a man she has never seen before. He wasn't a regular then, and his face and built were as common as the drab walls in the club's dressing rooms.

Most Indian men who came to this establishment had his average height, although she could tell his age in the way he carried himself.

But there was something else too.

The look in his eyes. That alone enhanced his appearance. With that kind of look, his overall gait seemed more fluid, and she can't help but be reminded of a swamp with its polluted waters and unknown depths.

It baffled her why she would envision that, so Ishtar hastily shrugged it off just in time as said man has come close to murmur right in her ear.

Pursing her lips, she waited until he disengaged so she can appraise the rest of his appearance up-close. She was still unimpressed. Neither particularly handsome nor ugly, whoever this person who fancied himself as some big-shot was hardly physically striking yet alone intimidating.

And yet...

Those eyes.

She surprised herself when she angled her body towards the direction of the club's backdoor exit.

"Come with me, sahib."

Ishtar didn't even look behind her to know for certain he was on her heels.

Once she arrived to the bolted doors, she pushed them open without any kind of urgency or difficulty. She then stepped out into the neon-dotted streets.

Ishtar still was not looking behind her and instead found herself gazing up at the sky. The former goddess smiled as she realized how stifling it had been inside and now she could just relish the caress of the night-air.

⇉❂⇇

Ganesh had been accustomed to the abrupt dismissal of his person solely due to first impressions. He's gotten this far mostly because his enemies made a fatal mistake of underestimating what he can achieve and how cunning he could be.

Whether it was because of his status as an orphaned son of a Brahmin priest from some shit-poor village, or his ordinary physicality of five-foot-six and slender build, the assholes never saw him as an immediate threat.

This was why he recognized the almost bored look that crossed the woman's eyes. And what telling eyes they were too! Ganesh saw intelligence in them and almost resembling that of the late Subhadra.

(He supposed he will always instinctively look for his wife in every woman he meets at this point.)

After this burka-concealed woman walked off, Ganesh turned to look at his boys and waved them off in case they thought about following him too. He didn't need their protection at the moment. Besides, with the kind of allure the woman has, he would probably risk getting shot at by any aspiring gangster out there in the streets just for the opportunity to be held in her arms as he died.

If Kanta Bai was here, she would scold and mock him for his dramatic streak. She hardly encouraged that side of him because she knew it would get him in trouble as far as business is concerned.

Ganesh never would have allowed his temperamental nature to cloud his judgment when it came to business, of course.

He stood there now by the doors which he shut close behind him. A pregnant silence followed for another moment or two as the woman looked lost in her own thoughts. She was still scantily-dressed.

Any man would have offered to keep her warm with a jacket already. Ganesh was personally sporting his favorite dark brown blazer. He hasn't moved an muscle to lend it to her, however. And he probably won't.

There was no need to impress or act like a gentleman. Ganesh is no inexperienced boy nor was he a cruel one. But she seemed to be on her element, uncaring of the temperature.

"Where are we going now?"

His inquiry was gently spoken as he approached and stopped by her side.

"You don't know who I am, do you?"

Ganesh suspected as much, given how out of place she was even if she worked in one of the many sleazy clubs here in Mumbai. Something about her spelled out "foreign" and it wasn't merely because she's not Indian.

✶⇢⇢

In spite of her muted demeanor and disregard for the man whom she commanded to follow her, Ishtar has not forgotten his presence.

She's also aware he wanted something from her tonight (all men always do), but he eluded her as to what it was.

This would have already been a done deal if only sex was the answer. Attuned to the desires of the flesh, Ishtar was astute enough to figure out that this man required something else from her company.

At this point she had no interest in money either, especially after he promised it wasn't just what he wanted to offer her.

No man has bothered in a while to intrigue the fallen goddess with offerings. So, for now, this nameless man has her attention.

"Am I expected to know who you are, sahib?"

She kept the burka on, flashing only her eyes at the stranger. Her fingers were intertwined in a semblance of pious shyness as well.

"You said we could go anywhere. Was I mistaken? I can take you to a favorite place of mine in Mumbai, if you'd like, sahib. Up to you."

She shook her head from side to side, a cultural gesture she had picked up over the years to communicate ambiguity.

⇉❂⇇

Ganesh hardly smiled these days, which was why he didn't bother with starting now. He just fixed the left lapel of his jacket and then cast a glance across the streets.

Mumbai was still lively, even in this hour, and not just here in the red-light district. The thought of taking for a stroll with this woman was not as tempting as one would hope.

Most days his joints ache in a few places already; it was the price for his robust years during the climax of his power.

"Fine," he responded nevertheless. There was an tinge of irritation in the way he said that, "Favorite place of yours it is."

It occurred to him that they haven't even exchanged names, but who gives a fuck. If she's only feigning not recognizing him then that's her prerogative. Otherwise, he saw no reason to learn who she was either, but just another whore he would probably have on his bed later tonight.

But tonight he wanted to honor Subhadra. He could at least preserve his love for her in memory when he had failed to display it when she lived.

"We'll stop for food on the way though," he debated briefly whether or not to touch her, but decided to pocket his hands in the end, "Are you really Muslim? In any case, I know a good chicken place."

As an outspoken agnostic Hindu himself, Ganesh didn't mind a little meat in his meal here and there.

"Lead the way, maal."

✶⇢⇢

Imperceptibly, she gritted her teeth as soon as this chutiya deemed it even fit to address her 'maal' right at her face.

Ishtar had a temper. In fact, she was infamous for it in the olden days.

For the briefest moment she forgot how she was supposed to act as the pricy burka-draped Arab prostitute her pimp has always advertised, and just tore off said garment from her face.

She threw it right at this offensive man. With nostrils flared and eyes pointing daggers at him, she retorted:

"You don't even know my cost, and let me tell you something else, sahib; half of Mumbai can't even afford it."

To drive home her point; that she refused to be intimidated by this small, commonplace-looking man, she stepped right in front of him until their faces were close enough that she could just whisper, "You reek of mud and self-entitlement. Not a pleasant combination for someone I'm supposed to be at awe with."

Ishtar withdrew as she pulled the burka back, "Never call me 'maal' again, sahib."

She busied herself in placing back her disguise with slightly trembling fingers. It was a grave mistake to expose herself like this, in more ways than one.

⇉❂⇇

His gut instinct was to respond in harshness too as soon as the burka was tossed at him. The lace cloth slithered down to his neck, but some of it was still able to cover his face.

Squaring his shoulders, he almost raised his hand to slap her, and that in itself distressed him. Never once had he ever laid a hand on a woman like that, unlike some of his kind who seemed to get off on the fairer sex's pain.

And he's far too old and weary to start with that now.

Ganesh breathed through his nose and with a huff he glared right back once she's close. He couldn't even register what she looked like due to the proximity and the lack of proper lighting in this dank alley.

It was while she was fixing her burka in place that Ganesh grabbed her wrists and started pulling her to a nearby lamp post. The location allowed for people loitering in the street to brush past their figures locked in tension.

He was only a few inches taller than the woman which made it easier to use one hand to push away the burka and unveil her face for better inspection.

The truth was he already knew she was beautiful. Such pompous self-assurance in the way she handled herself earlier could only belong to someone so secure in their desirability.

It wasn't shocking to have this confirmed then. Ganesh must admit he was slightly disappointed about it.

He let her go but raised a finger warningly, "Miss," he used an English honorific now, as mockingly spoken as the way she called him 'sahib', "Be more careful in how you treat me and I will do the same."

Ganesh started walking away from her but called out, "We will eat first then you can even take me to Hell after. Don't dally now, miss."

Abruptly turning towards her once he's halfway to the next street, he urged, "Come!"

✶⇢⇢

The momentary peace between them was cut short by the man's impatience. Ishtar could hardly believe he would dare to touch her so carelessly! And to drag her out into the open streets like cattle to be displayed!

No, the cows are sacred beings in this land and treated with more respect than the treatment she has received now!

"Unhand me!" she tried to wrench away, but then he was unveiling her face for his scrutiny, and the fallen goddess has half the mind to hurl spit at him. She, however, contained herself.

Tilting her chin so she could show she will never be ashamed, Ishtar waited for him to say something now that he knew what she looked like.

When he didn't, the anger worsened, this pressure rising in her gut, making her stare with wild eyes as he sauntered off.

He looked almost bored of what he's seen. Was she not the most exquisite, beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on? She was the Queen of Heaven, the deity antediluvian civilizations used to pray to for victory in both love and war, and yet this man thinks he could just overlook her?!

She almost stomped her way towards him, lithe legs making big leaps as her sandals pushed back on the pavement. It was still a graceful walk.

"I will treat you only as well you treat me. Right then, sahib," she retorted once she reached him. This was when she also clasped him by the arm as if she was more his wife than another whore he'd pay.

The familiarity should be insulting for someone of his ego, she has no doubt, so she tightened her grip. Ishtar will not be treated less than the queen she truly was, even in her mortal form.

This strange, unattractive chutiya needs to see that too. Sooner rather than later, if he wished to survive this night with his life intact.

⇉❂⇇

Once she slipped her hand on his arm, Ganesh blinked in mild surprise and, for the first time in years, allowed himself to smile.

"Ah," was all he could say as he stood there for a few moments to drink in her closeness and the depths of revulsion in her eyes. A woman has never looked more enticing than when she's enraged. Like Durga herself.

The burka was now askew, hanging weirdly on her head. He reached to try and fix it for her.

"Sounds like a fair bargain," he didn't really wish to cover her features but what would be the point of said headdress if it wasn't worn properly? She had such nice lips, though, and a mind that isn't afraid to let itself be known.

Ganesh has always liked it when a woman talks back. He welcomed the banter, the discourse and possible conflict. Kanta Bai was wise and she made sure everyone knows it in how she speaks. And Subhadra, when she wasn't disgusing herself as a wallflower in his household, could sway his opinion not just in business but about religion.

"The chicken shop is three blocks from here," he explained to this nameless temptress, all while he still smiled and his tone soft, "We can take a shortcut in the alleys or enjoy the more scenic route."

After a small pause, he decided to add, "A beauty like yours shouldn't be hidden for long. Let's remove that burka, no? You're neither Hindu nor Muslim, I can tell. So, where do really you come from?"

✶⇢⇢

She was more than prepared to cast him aside as just another puny man led by the capriciousnesss of his ego and cock, when he flashed her a smile.

Ishtar was only taken aback because there was something unexpectedly kind if not altogether innocent in that smile. It was as if she was glimpsing the boy in the man, and that hardly ever happens these days.

Men in this era seem to forget more often the children that they used to be a lot faster than they're supposed to. They go through life in some kind of crisis of the soul in which they need to suppress all urge for open curiosity; of helpless times in tears; even the freedom of being consumed by love.

Ishtar suddenly wanted to know who this man was, not just by name but to learn his story and understand how he had intersected with her path tonight. Perhaps there is a rhyme after all to this chaos of chance encounters.

She didn't give him a prompt answer and instead led him to a direction. The streets had many loiters, especially with the kind of special commodities they sold here.

At once she noticed a few men ogle her semi-nude form. She knew one or two might approach and mistake her companion as the pimp. Ishtar would deal with that briefly once it happens.

"I've spent a great deal of years blending in this country, obeying your customs, speaking your language," she explained, "Except when I have to play the part of an Arab seductress. Foreign women are exotic to any man; for anything new than the mundane is better, they think."

Her clutch on his harm loosened even as she leaned herself against him, "As to what I am, you don't need to know nor can I wholly tell you, sahib."

She took him to an alley next and began to unfurl her burka once they're both out of sight.

"I need better robes than this if we want to avoid disruptions to our conversation, don't you think so?"

Facing him directly now without any barrier to conceal her visage, she also flashed him a smile.

"My place is not that far. I'll be quick." And then she narrowed her eyes, "You can wait outside. This is no invitation to my home. Do you understand, sahib?"

⇉❂⇇

One of the advantages of his appearance is that rarely do people give him a second glance. True, at this point, Ganesh Gaitonde's reputation has spread across Mumbai and has acquired a notoriety. But those who had never interacted with him through business (or pleasure, as far as the women are concerned), will never be able to pick him from the crowd.

"You speak Hindi well enough," he remarked as he allowed himself to be led, "How long ago since you migrated? Or were you bought and sold among pleasure houses until you got here in the city?"

He was more than aware that people watched as their pair passed by, but it was not only because of her staggering scantily-clad body but also because he didn't look like the type of man who should be walking next to such a beauty.

It has been observed that Ganesh has a way to blend among his own boys who most of the time are taller and more brutish in the way they moved about and spoke. Not him though. Perhaps that's why he had taken a liking in putting on flashy shirts with unusual colors and designs. They'd prevent him from truly disappearing against walls.

He recognized the path she was taking him and glanced around as he tried to recall the last time he was here (and why only now did he glimpse this woman and not before).

"You should slip into something more comfortable if you wish," he only said.

Upon her almost antagonistic request that he never enters her abode, Ganesh grinned before shaking his head from side to side.

"I don't want to have you tonight," he admitted but then added, "Not that I never would want to. It's just that...it isn't the right time for me."

That's as far as he's willing to disclose. His shoulders tensed up when he realized he might have said too much.

"I'll wait here," he found a wall to lean on as he crossed his arms, "Surprise me, beautiful."

He said the English word with an exaggerated syllabication.

✶⇢⇢

"I was not traded around like a common whore," There was an edge to her tone as she explained, "I came to this country on my own volition. Everything I have done since was my choice, and that included selling my body, although I don't do it simply to survive."

She paused as she turned to meet his gaze, "Not in the way you might think, sahib."

The place she stayed in was deathly silent. It was a compound of sorts that she shared with other women although her own quarters are separate and definitely with more space. It includes a kitchen for her own use only as well as a queen-sized bed.

"Won't be long," she only managed to say next, ignoring his attempt at flirtation altogether as she disappeared inside her dwelling.

Still, when she got to her rooms, there was a smile on her lips that denoted that perhaps he had charmed her after all.

It hasn't even been an hour, but this man was such an oddity that Ishtar could not help but feel as if she could lose track of time now that she's with him.

A laughable thought, considering there was nothing about the way he looked that could make her weak in the knees.

And she was still of divine ilk, who survived two millenia and never once winced from the permeating sting of that longevity. She's had so many lovers and devouts from the past and many of them were far more superior than this aging Indian man in a tacky shirt.

So why did he continue to act and talk as if he had more to offer that she hasn't had a dozen times before?

It was equally frustrating and intriguing.

And Ishtar will figure out soon what it was he can give her, for she was still very wanton in her hungers. If not kings and warriors, she could at least sway men (and the occasional woman) of questionable repute to worship her when in bed. And this is Mumbai; a city that never runs out of shady characters who mix sex and violence in an alarming frequency.

Ishtar was never a victim of it though. She could be made a willing participant too if the kill could be offered in her name. That's the way of gods; blessings through sanctified brutalities.

She emerged in different robes about five minutes later. Ishtar had donned a salwar kameez that looked rather plain for someone of her beauty standard. It was peach in color with a yellow collar that didn't bear any of the designs that would make the fabric stand out. But the garment's tight fit on her body would at least leave a lot to the imagination.

"Shall we go to that shop you spoke of?" Ishtar has once more slipped her hand onto his arm, far too comfortable and knowing. Her long black tresses were tied in a ponytail this time; it revealed more of her youthful face.

"Maybe when we're done, I can take you to a place in Mumbai you have never been before."

⇉❂⇇

While he waited for the woman whose name he still hasn't bothered to learn, Ganesh's ever watchful eyes roamed across the alley he's standing in.

A pair of old women walked past, talking in low voices. They carried empty bottles and a basket of vegetables. One of them turned towards him and, for a moment, he wondered if she recognized who he was. She most likely did, given that her stare lasted for more than a few seconds, before she just kept walking away.

The real paradox he dealt with every day is that he wanted to be a chameleon and hide in plain sight, as well as an instantly recognizable figure of authority, both in equal measure.

At last the woman was back. She had put on a kameez that complemented her skin tone and one that emphasized her curves.

"You are certainly less distracting now to the males of this city," he half-joked before offering his arm at the same time she took it.

There was a growing familiarity rising between himself and this woman, and he wasn't sure that's it's a good thing.

Ganesh led them towards the direction where the chicken place was right after they emerged from the alley. He took this time to comment about her earlier response.

"It's unheard of to me that you would volunteer so readily to a life of prostitution," he said, "Even those who chose it were still forced because they need to support their families. And what of you? What do you gain from it?"

He glanced away for a moment and spotted two of the boys from his company. Ah, so they had been trained well. It was good they still followed the don for protection and that they at least have the courtesy to do it from afar.

"I probably shouldn't even eat chicken," he added, almost absentmindedly, just to keep up the chatter, "My late wife was a strict Hindu, and I tried to be for her after her death. And tonight..."

Ganesh caught himself rambling and stopped. He focused now on taking them to their destination. His expression may be devoid of emotion but his abrupt silence says more. If she picked up on it, she better be careful on her approach.

✶⇢⇢

Ishtar had vowed to herself, since coming to India, that she would enjoy the little good things along the way. Long walks on evenings in Mumbai often granted her reprieve from the work she had to do the whole day.

And because she belonged to an era free of biases when it came to carnal activities of flesh, Ishtar could never perceive prostitution as the shameful and degrading act that nowadays proclaim it as. It was merely something that even in mortal form is essential to her survival.

How could she explain this to anyone? It would reveal that she's a goddess from long ago, and at this point nobody believes in the divine anymore, let alone have one walk among them as some common 'whore'.

"I gain experiences," was how she phrased it, "I'm sexually curious by nature, and I believe a woman must acquire a tantamount of experiences in that area, regardless how the world would condemn it as promiscuity or label her a harlot."

Inclining her head, she looked at him and asked, "And what of you? Clearly there is something else you wish to procure tonight aside from the obvious?"

Having this mysterious man by her arm was not as unpleasant as she originally thought it would be because of their earlier misunderstanding, and she could even see herself in bed with him too; if not tonight then in the future.

But, just as he said, there was no urgent need for copulation at the moment.

Her question was answered indirectly when the man mentioned something about his wife. A dead wife, as it seems. And that was when Ishtar understood.

"She died tonight many years ago, didn't she?"

Her voice was a whisper as the hand on his arm loosened and migrated downwards so she could gently intertwine their fingers together. She expected that he would withdraw, even lash out, but for now she will hold him and remind him that it was okay to feel lost and sad.

Some days even she, the effervescent Evening Star, embraces her sadness.

⇉❂⇇

They were nearing the intersection where a variety of shops serving different preparations of food can be found. It was still thriving at this hour, the eatery mostly populated by those who sustain a nocturnal job or two (a legal profession and not, in most cases). Several food stands peppered the street corners; they stood just a few yards away from actual restaurant establishments.

At first glance, especially with a tourist's perspective, this was chaos at its finest in Mumbai, but much like everything in this city, there was a harmony in which its people had learned to embrace, in spite of the existing socio-religious tensions that engulf them.

"I used to work right there," Ganesh pointed at a building, "...back when it was a Hindu hotel, and the clientele were those from the upper caste classes only. I was nineteen and it was, shall we say, a brave new world for the kind of dreams I had as a boy."

He spoke as if he hasn't noticed that she was holding his hand now. Ganesh hoped his wasn't clammy, and that his grip was as sure as hers with no trace of childish hesitation.

But he was hardly a man who engaged in amorous displays. Even when Subhadra lived, Ganesh rarely touched her in private except when they're in bed. Sex was the easy part for any man, but intimacy will always baffle even the proudest of them. He has lost count as to how many times he laid beside his wife in those nights and wished he could connect with her in some way aside from the union of flesh.

It didn't matter now. She's dead, and Ganesh is too old to let ghosts haunt him.

So he focused on the present, with this woman who dared to touch him, possibly even in more ways than one.

"You are..." He slowed his steps so he could meet her eyes as she gazed back at him, "...a breath of fresh air. Much like the clearing of the sky after it drenched the world in rain."

Ganesh then looked off to the side and forced away the smile that was forming on his lips. At this angle, he looked almost bashful, devoid of the forty-three long years that he carried.

His grip on her hand loosened until he has withdrawn it altogether from hers.

"Ah, here we are," he strolled a few steps ahead of the woman and then turned to her once he was standing by the entrance. "We can pick a table at the farthest corner where no one will bother us."

✶⇢⇢

She truly did expect him to lash out. Perhaps it was only because she was so accustomed to the arrogance of men over the years that she has forgotten that there was an untouched part in their psyche that can be soft and pliable under a woman's grasp once she finds it.

And Ishtar just did. This man's late wife is clearly a sore subject. Whether or not her death had been peaceful is yet to be discovered, and she was in no hurry to probe him with questions.

"A Hindu hotel, you say?" She was astute enough to pick up on the change of topic as seamless as she could manage, "I assume you are of the upper caste yourself, given that you have bodyguards around you back at the club."

She did take notice of that earlier and now she began to wonder what trade he's in and if he could truly afford her pimp's prices.

With their hands clasped together, any observer watching them would think they were a couple, a misunderstanding that she was perfectly fine with, yet not for the usual reasons.

Ishtar has had customers who did make her pose as their significant other if by chance they were found on the streets. On a few ocassions she also took lovers for her own but hardly ever displayed these boys in public to avoid any resentment and jealousy from certain clients who expected her to be somewhat monagamous in the duration of her services to them.

But with this man...

Well, she saw him as relatively harmless. Hardly attractive, his manners were at least concise and he had been nothing but straightforward with her so far. It wasn't charm that he possessed but rather intrigue. Ishtar wanted to know him and that was a rarity for a woman who has lived for too long everything and everyone has become unavoidably dull

She was just about to comment on something else when the man turned to look at her face and say something she least expected to hear.

Not that she's unfamiliar of poetic declarations thrown her way; she had been on the receiving end of fervent devotion since the beginning of time as goddess queen, not to mention flattery was common for someone of her beauty and appeal.

But this compliment seemed so random, and its innocent and earnest delivery coming from him almost made her blush.

She laughed instead, a hearty one that means well.

"Sahib," she remarked as she easily let his hand go, "In the short time I've known you, I had no idea you could be such a romantic."

Ishtar removed the same yellow scarf that was hanging on her left shoulder so she could wrap it around her neck and pull it up into a hood she could wear.

"Yes, that will do," she answered after his suggestion as to where they could sit inside the shop.

With another ambiguous shake of her head, she grinned and stepped forward to open he doors for herself.

⇉❂⇇

The old don could not explain it, but it made him slightly giddy to see this woman bequeath him a smile like that.

Even after all these years, Ganesh remained self-conscious around women. He treated them fairly enough but also always kept them at a safe distance, even those whom he paid to share his bed.

Aside from his wife, Kanta Bai and the pimp Jojo, there are hardly other women he could trust. It wasn't something he wanted to seek out either, but perhaps tonight will be a night of exceptions.

"These people know me," he remarked once he trailed after her inside the shop, "I'll get us that table."

Somehow, Ganesh wanted to touch the woman again so he placed his palm on the small of her back in a gesture of guiding her along as they walked.

The manager himself has approached including three waiters who all smiled and greeted Ganesh.

It occurred to him that the woman still didn't know who he was--and he planned to keep it that way, at least for now.

"We will take that table over there," he pointed at the one close to the exit and near an open window. "Just hand us the menus and I'll call again if we need anything."

"We're very grateful to have you here again--" the manager was going to keep reciting the same grating speech of homage Ganesh was familiar with, so he cut him off.

"Yes, fine, just do what I asked."

He then led the woman to said table with his hand still on her back the entire time. A few of the patrons looked up to examine this odd pair that just came in.

Ganesh spared them no looks, but he could feel himself growing listless. He needed to be away from prying eyes and focus more on his lovely companion.

"This should be secluded enough."

He gestured for her to sit opposite him as he took the chair that would provide him vantage point of the entire establishment in case of a change in circustmances.

✶⇢⇢

If Ishtar hasn't been certain before that this man she decided to spend her night with was someone important, she surely was now after the warm reception the pair of them received as soon as they entered the shop.

The man didn't seem to like the attention, however, and it occurred to Ishtar that it might be because he wanted to still keep his identity concealed from her. Why?

And then she realized that perhaps the mystery was part of the reason why their evening together has been exceptional so far.

Exceptional? Is that really the word she should use?

She was glad the man did not try and pull the chair himself to help her sit down. Such chivalry was always uncomfortable for someone of her pride. She's also glad that now she could face him on the table which should allow for an uninterrupted flow of conversation.

Ishtar picked up a menu once they were placed on their table, "What do you recommend for the food here, sahib?"

⇉❂⇇

He hasn't looked her even as the menus were served. His eyes were fixed instead on another doorway. Ganesh could see that the two boys from earlier were now standing outside, guarding the place for protection.

That's good. Since he was in such a good mood, the old don decided that such unwavering duty deserves a reward.

Waving a nearby waiter, he told him, "See those men? They're with me, so I want you to give them a menu and sit them somewhere on the other side of the room."

Afterwards, he focused his attention back at the woman sitting across from him.

"I recommend the wings," he remarked, "They are served in variety of flavors from wild and mild and sweet."

Smirking, Ganesh added, "Which one are you?"

✶⇢⇢

With her eyes still fixed on the menu, Ishtar was rather distracted. She wasn't that distracted, however, to not to notice the man's first attempt to genuinely flirt with her.

She didn't look at him just yet, preferring to stir the pot for a few more moments. A tiny smile did betray her a bit before she folded the menu to gaze at him at last.

"That depends on which you could bring out."
Carefully, she allowed the toes of her left foot to graze against his shin below the table. She could always pretend it was accidental, but she doubted that it would be convincing. There was also no need to be coy at this point.

Sitting across from him like this in a brighter lighting provided her a better view of the man's visage. He still looked average but tidy in appearance. The bizarre print and color of his shirt disguised that the fabric was actually a luxurious kind, no doubt with a known brand.

"But, if you're asking what I would choose tonight here in the menu," Ishtar's gaze fell back on the table, "I think I'll go for mild and sweet instead. I don't have a fondness for spices, to be honest."

Her foot glided upwards before she retracted it altogether.

"This is an unusual place, though. Fine dining with a selection of more appetizing meals. And yet you refer to this as if it's solely a chicken place. Clearly it has more to offer than hot wings."

Ishtar was indeed puzzled.

⇉❂⇇

"That's because it started as one of those food stands outside before my generosity uplifted it," was Ganesh's hasty explanation. His tone was standoffish the entire time, but only because he focused all of his energies in curtailing his expression.

The woman caressing his leg with her foot was very cruel, not to mention needlessly distracting. He was made of tougher stuff, however, and would never just bend to her will.

"I also personally asked them to keep their hot wings on the menu," he added, "That was the only reason I come here and nothing else. You will find..."

He leaned his elbows on the table and gazed more deeply into her eyes, "...that I'm a man of simple tastes. I require wealth only to expand my enterprises and power because, well, it is what I'm destined to have."

Ganesh's faint smile did little to undercut the ferocity of this self-belief.

"Even as a child, I knew, you see, that I was not made to be so small. I came to this city because it was the one place in India where people can thrive in dysfunction and make something everlasting for themselves."

The smile turned wistful now, "I love this city. It chipped away everything I was, so it could mold the man I'm supposed to be..." He leaned back on his chair and appraised the ceiling above, "This ugliness, the cold and the blood...they are like garbage that reeks and sticks to my pores, but the stench to me is still sweet."

Closing his eyes, he murmured, "Reminding me the stench of burning wreckage in Gopalmath where it all began."

✶⇢⇢

She understood now that although he wasn't the most handsome of men, those deep-seated brown eyes were certainly penetrative and hypnotic.

If she were a weaker woman prone to flight and fancy, she could have gotten lost in those eyes at this moment.

His story served to illuminate now the shadows that he had cast upon himself since this evening started for them. Ishtar was immediately engrossed; it would seem that the man has a gift for weaving narrative.

Gods were born from dreams and stories. This is a singular truth that doesn't escape her, even after brutal time has bled and blurred everything that once made her divine.

She was suddenly seized by this longing for the man to touch her.

Not for carnal release but for devotion, the kind of which only mortals could bequeath their gods; the way the brokenhearted yet hopeful would kneel on an altar and clutch the feet of their idol's statue to seek answers; the way they take an animal to slay and offer it to the name of their chosen deity.

｢See me｣ she wanted to say, ｢Pray to me because I'm your mother and lover and only queen｣

But then the man said, ❛Gopalmath❜.

The movement of Ishtar's foot from under the table ceased altogether.

❛Gopalmath❜. She did not mishear. He said, ❛...where it all began.❜

Frozen in place, the chatter and crowd surrounding them did not exist anymore. There was only this table with and the bulb hanging on the ceiling that the man had been staring at, bathing his dusky face in a glow akin to the way the fire back then must have danced in his features.

She knew him now, knew him better than he himself could possibly understand, or at least not yet.

"You're Ganesh Gaitonde."

That simple utterance, the mundane naming of one man, sent shivers down Ishtar's spine. She couldn't look away, not even if she forced herself to.

⇉❂⇇

He couldn't put a finger on it, but it was there. It thrums almost imperceptibly, like an echo among stones. It was there in the way the woman addressed him by name.

Ganesh looked back at her to discern the expression on her face, but it was so inscrutable that she might as well have donned a burka again.

And still, he's more haunted by that surge in her voice that he could not name.

"That compound you lived in," he decided to be rid of the grim silence about to engulf them by asking, "...how long since has it been a home for you?"

It was indeed a familiar alley with its narrow buildings in a tight row together like tuna fish in cans. Ganesh had stalked that same alley and many others on a night like this twelve years ago.

If she was ever there in one of those houses, she could have been no more than a prepubescent, judging by her age now.

But he was also certain that he never spared anyone back then. He saw each face of the Muslims he had snuffed out but he could not, of course, tell any of them apart.

Still, is one of those men and women this woman's parent? Sibling?

Is that why she's looking at him the way she is now?

Ganesh remained serene as he sat there with his fingers intertwined into another, hands resting on the table.

That was until he shooed away the waiter who picked the worst moment to step forward and interrupt.

Bearing his gaze across his companion, he asked in a hushed tone, "If you know who I am, then you know what I've done."

✶⇢⇢

Several thoughts swirled in her mind, holding her hostage. She may be prone to wrathful outburts in the past, but the longevity of a semi-mortal existence has taught Ishtar a thing or two about prudence.

Besides, even though her mind chewed on this meaty revelation, her heart was depleted of any real emotion that she could readily act upon.

"I know only little about the things you've done," she answered, measuring her words and delivery, "It hasn't been that long since I resided in that compound at all, actually. Seven years, tops. And I mostly get taken to my clients' second houses for weeks."

Yes, she knew about Gaitonde and his reputation. His exploits in the criminal underworld coupled with his far-reaching influence and hold over a few notable political decisions, were typically what made him such a myth of a man.

As a prostitute by trade, Ishtar had arrived in Mumbai shortly after the strife between Hindus and Muslims reached a breaking point, so the details were muddled on her end exactly of what he could be referring to.

At least, that was the official story anyway.

The truth was Ishtar had lived here for more than fifty years but kept herself hidden, donning a few identities in which she would never leave a trace. She also traveled outside the city for months on end, only to come back to hear of the same tales of violence and massacere promulgated among the scared masses.

But Ishtar could never reveal that. It would expose her true age, her antiquity. And Gaitonde was the last man on earth to whom she would ever divulge such an important secret.

"Why, Gaitonde bhai," she switched her mode of address now, "Is there a history you'd care to share about the place I call my home?"

She could mean just the compound or this wretched, bloodthirsty city as a whole, and its many unfulfilled lusts and even more lost souls.

⇉❂⇇

Bhai?

The sudden darkening in his gaze indicated that he did not appreciate the address. It was, after all, reserved to those who belonged to the G-company, but only among the higher ranks and with Ganesh's permission.

And it was something only uttered between men, and not by someone whom he barely knew. How ironic it was that she had a fit over being reduced as a trinket when he called her 'maal' whilst he felt just slightly diminished himself when she carelessly uttered an endearment she could never earn from him.

"Listen," he raised a finger for emphasis, "Don't lie to me. Are you lying right now? Huh?"

His tone was curt, almost harsh before he settled his hand back on the table. The expression on his face didn't relax as he added, "It is strange you only realized who I am after I mentioned the fire in Gopalmath. That was so long ago, and you would have only still been a dream in your father's balls."

The crude language spoke volumes of his wariness.

Ganesh can sense this woman was not as forthcoming as he wanted her to be, and he's not pleased in spite of civil appearances.

"You're, what, twenty-one to five? Very young in this context to have known about that fire. Unless someone told you. Am I correct?"

Without realizing it, Ganesh has reached out to clutch her right wrist, pulling her to lean towards the table's ledge. His scrutiny was laced with suspicion and impatience.

"I don't want to play games. You need to tell me what you know and your name. Clear?"

His grip tightened for a few moments before he at last withdrew. A perpetual frown was now etched on his face.

✶⇢⇢

Her bangles chimed before their contour dug against the wood as soon as Ganesh Gaitonde grabbed her wrist in a grating attempt to subdue her somehow.

Ishtar just stared back at him, unwavering even as the rage stirred unpleasantly in her gut. Her lips almost twisted into a sneer but she was able to curtail it at the last second.

She did not want to feed more fuel to fire, for that was precisely what this man promised in his own eyes. It was a look that sealed for her that this was indeed the man who conquered Bombay and then singlehandedly massacred eighty Muslims in their sleep many years later.

Ganesh Gaitonde. Lord of the Garbage Dumps of Gopalmath. And The Avenger of impoverished Hindus, as he was hailed in hushed whispers by old men and women whose children were slain because of religious strife.

He had his hands on every vice and crime in this city in the last twenty-five or so years. It was no wonder he thought that it could also be the case with any woman he believed he could control.

Well, he hasn't met Ishtar then. If he had, he would have realized that even the god of his own namesake would think twice before he'd cross blades with the antediluvian diety of love and war who had often caused natural disasters on cities herself if she found a man look or touch her the wrong way.

It was precisely this 'commonality' between them that kept her own temper from flaring to battle with his.

"Sahib," she spoke in a low, almost reproachful tone right after Ganesh released her wrist, "I have struck a nerve, haven't I?"

It was hardly because she called him with such a familiar term of address, she knew that much at least.

Calmly, Ishtar lowered the scarf from concealing her head. The light made her black tresses shine, giving them an almost blue tinge.

"I heard the story from an older woman who used to live in the compound shortly after I arrived. She described to us the Burning of Gopalmath with such vivid poetry that it left me under a spell."

She smiled, obviously baiting him.

"And you may call me Ina," she added as an afterthought. It was the name she had been using recently anyway, "It's very nice to meet you."

Ganesh Gaitonde. A man bequeathed with such a sacred name would obviously not live in piety. He was not meant to be small, he had just told her.

｢Well, sahib, let's see if you could measure up to me then｣

⇉❂⇇

He wasn't exactly expecting fear to appear in the woman's features.

After all, Ganesh didn't have the physique to invoke fear, but he wouldn't have been able to lead the most successful criminal enterprise in Mumbai if his subordinates weren't afraid of him, and the root of that went beyond the surface level.

Those who don't even know what he looks like can only rely on the news they have heard about the deeds and crimes he himself committed or others have executed in his name.

And it was through this reputation that he became a bogeyman.

This woman knew who he was by now, but she was not afraid. Those eyes (arguably her best feature) don't lie. Ganesh didn't want her to be scared of him, honestly, so he was relieved that she still had that spunk once she answered and finally revealed her name.

Or alias. He could somehow tell 'Ina' was not the name she was christened with at birth. It didn't matter.

You can be anyone in Mumbai.

"What did this friend of yours say about Gopalmath then?" Ganesh will not deny that he was intrigued with her phrasing. He was not a man of extreme vanity, but a healthy ego was another component that got him to where he was.

Right now he wanted it somewhat stroked. He missed receiving such attention from a woman who's worth more than he could ever anticipate.

Ganesh gestured at his boys who were sitting about four tables away. One of them approached and, without being prompted, handed the don with a small velvet case.

With his eyes still fixed on her, Ganesh opened it and took out a rolled joint. The boy lit it for him before Ganesh dismissed him.

"Spin me the tale, Ina."

✶⇢⇢

It was apparent that he figured out she had adapted an alias, and that it was exactly what she just used to introduce herself with.

There were a few more unspoken things that lingered between them, but Ishtar would rather doom them in silence completely than the alternative.

As irresistible as he was becoming the more this night unfolds, Ganesh Gaitonde still remains not only a stranger, but a dangerous thug. Crime and corruption paved way to his kingdom in the garbage dumps of the old Bombay, and Ishtar had not once felt an inkling of sympathy for low-lives like him but nor was she truly repulsed.

Everyone's has to make a living, even fallen deities.

She could still the recall the last time she revealed her true identity to a mortal. The year was 1954. Ishtar was vulnerable back then, which made her foolish. It was fortunate that she wasn't exposed to the public, but only because she took the extreme measure to ensure her secret was once again safe.

She will not make the same mistake twice.

"There was a series of events that led to that moment, she said," Ishtar kept her eyes fixed on the man before her as she scrutinized every miniscule detail of his expression.

"A man has a booming business by allocating and selling salvageable items from Bombay's garbage disposal area found in Gopalmath. He owned every scavenger in the city. It had been that way for six years. And then there was this...young chutiya..."

A ghost of a smile appeared in her lips a she used that term to refer to a young, strapping Gaitonde.

"...who dared challenged the man's position because he had enough gold to buy off the lands where the garbage sites were. He was accosted in a bar one night, my friend said, a firm warning not to mess with the status quo."

She paused only to slowly remove the scarf from her shoulders, placing it on the table before she went on, "He didn't give a shit. This challenger gathered three trucks filled with gasoline tanks. He used them all up for the lands where the mountains of garbage are found. It was said that he lit the first match and then watched from a safe distance as everything was engulfed in flames."

Ishtar interlaced her fingers together as she leaned forward using her elbows.

"The fire smoke wafted throughout the homes and the buildings of Bombay. It was a dirty cloud that lasted for a day and a half. On that night when it all burned, Gopalmath was vibrant, my friend said. Orange and yellow and red against the dark skies above. The toxic air was hard to breathe in, but Ganesh Gaitonde was there for almost the entirety of it."

Her hands loosening, she used one to place on top of his own, the thumb and forefinger brushing across the skin.

"In the morning, everyone knew that he was not going to stop at Gopalmath. And you didn't, did you?"

⇉❂⇇

He allowed the joint to perch between his lips for a while as he used a hand to gesture towards the waiter. Without a word exchanged, the don merely grazed the menu with the tip of his forefinger, indicating the items he wanted brought.

It was while Ina began narrating the secondhand account that he finally touched the joint so he could take a ceremonious first puff. He turned his cheek slightly to the right so he could exhale the smoke right out of the open window.

He never once tried to interrupt her. Eyes hooded, he was content to just taste the weed upon his tongue and gums whilst he listened to the beguiling narrative Ina revealed. When he exhaled the second time, he even forgot to turn to the side altogether.

The haze of the smoke framed her beautiful features next, its wisps even reaching her head, crowning it. Both of them seemed to be too lost in the story that eveything else was white noise. Ganesh also recognized that she was trying to analyze his countenance, but all he ever gave her back was an almost blank, drug-addled stare.

He still wouldn't react outwardly until she touched him. The old don's eyes shifted down to observe her fingers massaging a spot on his hand; the soft space between his own thumb and forefinger.

In response, Ganesh enfolded her hand onto his and used said thumb to press at the center of her palm. The pressure was as firm as it was suggestive, indicating it was not an absentminded gesture but rather one that's filled with intent.

"This city..." He used his free hand to remove the joint from his mouth, the slender thing now dangling between two fingers as he leaned that arm on the table.

"...was always supposed to be mine," he added as he looked across Ina with a self-assured smirk, "And I always go after what I want regardless of the obstacles. Maybe it's the fact that my very name demands it."

Ganesh lifted the joint so he could take another hit. This time he took his time savoring the burning weed between his lips, inhaling more than exhaling. He then placed the joint on top of the velvet case for a while.

Without warning, he used his grip on Ina's hand to bring her closer, dragging her by the elbow until she understood what was needed from her. His other hand would have also held her still by the back of her head. It was then that Ganesh leaned forward until they were both half-risen from their chairs.

Their lips almost touched as the old don exhaled the smoke right into her parted lips. He stared right at her as this exchange of drug-infused air occurred. Ganesh wasn't even sure why he did it; all he knew was that he wanted to.

It would have been so easy to kiss her too.

But then he just let her go, as if nothing crucial happened, and sunk back to his chair.

He fixed his eyes on the light above, captivated by how it swayed and flickered.

✶⇢⇢

From under the table, Ishtar crossed her legs, revealing that the salwar kameez she wore has a slit on the right leg. But no one else could gaze openly upon her exposed thigh, considering Gaitonde chose this table on a secluded spot.

She was almost disappointed. The truth of the matter was that even in small doses, the fallen goddess sought the lusts of men. To be gazed at with adoration was all that they could give her now. Gone were the days they'd kill in her name, for her sake.

And this was how Ishtar began to starve, and it had been a hard famine indeed.

"It's blasphemous though, don't you think?" she retorted after his last statement, "...to equate yourself with a god? That must have gotten you in trouble frequently, especially with your position."

Her eyes drifted next to their fingers probing one another.

It was not rare for men to still touch her with intent on occasion, particularly her rich clientele. But it rarely occurred outside the bedroom. In fact, some of them learned that she's not something to possess even if they could afford her price for a few nights. That meant they treated her rather coldly once the transaction has been completed.

But Ganesh Gaitonde obviously desired something else. Any man wants sex and so does he, but there was something about the way he looked at her since this night started which invoked a different breed of lust entirely.

A deity of her experience should know already, but Ishtar was still scrambling to figure it out.

"You know, sahib--"

Her words were cut short when Gaitonde pulled her close until their faces were mere inches from one another. She did not know how to react or interpret any of this. The taste of the drug wafting from his mouth to hers made her choke for a few seconds before she abruptly pulled away to wave at the offensive smoke crowding her breathing space.

"What do you think you're doing?" she demanded, though she was only slightly livid, "That was uncalled for. I do not care for the vice!"

She grabbed the elbow of a waiter passing by, "I need a glass of water, please."

And then Ishtar glared back at Gaitonde, all while she wiped her lips with the scarf. She then cited, "You're a funny little man. Is this the type of thing you consider a foreplay?"

⇉❂⇇

And Ganesh just laughed.

The woman said a few notable things before that transference, which he chose to respond to now as he finished his joint with a last few puffs.

"Blasphemy would imply I actually had faith in the gods of this filthy country," he inhaled then released some of the smoke through his nose, making his throat burn more intensely, "It's my father's religion, and I despised that weak man. Many weak men also hide behind gods. They cannibalize one another in the name of purity and goodness."

He paused thoughtfully as his eyes flickered towards a nearby portrait from the other table. It was an abstract painting of Durga, depicting her amidst a consuming battle with a horde of demons. Something about that image reminded him of the two women he had only loved.

"I dabbled on it once," he crushed the butt of his joint on the table's surface, uncaring of the ash that spilled.

"People think I did the cleansing years ago because of some religious inclination. True, the Hindu in me was awakaned that night, but my motivation for it was much simpler; even very commonplace."

Ganesh ran a hand through his dark locks, the strands on his temples graying on the edges.

It was then that the waiter stopped by to hand over the glass of water and the plates of wings as well as assorted vegetables. The waiter smiled nervously then left.

"I did it for vengeance," Ganesh said with a tone of finality, "My wife was the one who believed in the gods, and look how they had forsaken her that night."

He shot Ina a forboding look, "Look at any of us who dared believe something bigger watches over and judges our deeds fairly. But there is no karma or nirvana. Just this life and the grime you scrape out day after day until your hands are bleeding and your time has come."

✶⇢⇢

Her eyebrows knitted together in a contemplative repose. She dabbed her lips with the scarf a few more times before she lowered it to her lap. It could not be helped; the man continued to be a compelling specimen. In just a short span of time, Ishtar has seen more layers to him than she would have expected.

There was the shy recluse who obviously did not have much experience with women when it came to simple affection; the egomaniac who wanted to prove that his namesake alone was proof of his destiny; the paternal figure who was accustomed to people bending to his will; and now this unremorseful avenger--the one who only knew love the moment it was snatched away.

"You're too harsh on the gods," was all she said at first. Her lips remained pursed as she reached for a warm wet towel offered as part of the table setting.

After wiping her hands with it, she then picked a chicken wing to put on her plate and start eating later.

"But clearly not as harsh as you are to yourself," she added and then began to take a long sip of the water so she could replenish her throat and buy time before she could comment again.

"I take it your wife has been slain during a confrontation among the Muslims and Hindus years ago? Or..."

Ishtar lowered her voice, "...was she targeted because she was your spouse?"

It was a delicate line she's treading, but she was gifted when it came to walking a tightrope.

Who better tackle this matter than Ishtar?

⇉❂⇇

"It wasn't really the conflict between these two factions that claimed her life," he answered in a resolute tone, "It was Suleiman Isa's goons intruding into my territory to resolve unfinished business."

The old don wiped his hands with the towel too and then pushed the velvet case to the side, saying, "Gods are not real anyway. Ghosts are."

Surprisingly, it came rather easily to talk about Subhadra as if the eve of her death anniversary in the last twelve years ached no longer, let alone tonight.

In fact, Ganesh just wanted to get it over with. He did not wish to dwell on haunted places anymore. His survival largely depended on running towards something, regardless that the destination is unknown. Coming home was the last thing he needed, even if it led to his late wife's bed, or Cuckoo's dressing room--even his mother's embrace.

These women were all dead. And here he lived to carry the wounds they burrowed into his heart that hardly healed.

"She got caught in the crossfire. One moment she was on the bed, trying not to make a sound," he took a chicken wing, tear it to the bone and then chowed down a piece, "...and the next..." he chewed for a bit, eyes blank while he stared at Ina, "...she was bleeding from a gunshot to her stomach."

Ganesh used a serving spoon to scoop the vegetables. He gnawed on a carrot and some lettuce for a whole minute or so.

"Love is a murderous asshole," he concluded, still looking at his plate without acknowledging the woman sitting across him again. At least for now.

✶⇢⇢

Ishtar was earnest in her patient listening of the old don's soliloquy that on the surface seemed devoid of sentiment. She can never be fooled by his cavalier tone, so attuned she was to men's auras in general.

History could attest to Ishtar's endless knowledge of mankind's greatest wishes, and though she no longer had the power to grant them, it was still in her being to seek out their prayers.

"It still must have been such a blow, to lose a woman you valued to senseless slaughter," she said while tapping her fingers on the glass of water, "...and you make love sound like her killer when it was not."

Her comments were spoken in a measured tone, which veiled her own invested interest in his story. "I won't push you to go on if you'd rather speak of other things, sahib."

What did strike her as strange was his outright declaration earlier that gods are not real. She recalled the nineties when Gaitonde has presented himself as a Hindu devout who made several, long-standing religious donations. Now, she supposed it could strictly be a political move; a ploy to further himself in his business and exploits.

But then she also remembered reading his interviews, and how she felt the passion and anger in each punctuated phrase he uttered regarding his faith.

Who was this man sitting across her? Made up of jumbled contradictions, he certainly did not live up to how he presented himself to the media.

"You claimed you are atheistic," she approached this next matter as cautiously as possible, "But I've known about you mostly through the things I've read in old newspapers, back when I was still starting here in Mumbai. I thought...well, I was under the impression that you are a devout."

She took a sip then stared at the food on her plate, realizing she didn't have the appetite to dine at the moment.

"Or perhaps I misunderstand. Faith is often as personal as it is indefinable."

⇉❂⇇

He was in the middle of enjoying his food when Ina made astute inquiries regarding his public persona, the one he had embraced in the wake of Subhadra's death. Of course his feigned religiosity years ago would be called into question, considering the tactless truths he has revealed to her just now.

Nevertheless he was hardly self-conscious about his deception, for there are many sides to him and the stories he had told that even he at times could not keep up with. At this point he will never apologize for the man he had become.

Ganesh used the towel to wipe the grease from his mouth next before casually glancing at the nearby tables, saying, "I don't mind. Talking like this is good for the soul. And you prove to be smarter than most whores."

Their spot remained as secluded as he wanted, but he still had to make sure no one was eavesdropping.

"Old newspapers, huh?" He shot her a sly glance afterwards, "Good to know you have done your research while you worked in the city."

The old don scooped more vegetables but this time he placed them on her empty plate. He did not expect her to protest so he went on, "But surely you know by now that what the media reports is still affected by outside influence..."

He took his own glass of water but didn't drink from it just yet, "...particularly by those who finance these outlets in the first place. Free speech is an illusion in cities like Mumbai. Truth is a subjective reality--from what journalists spew out to what the police submit in their reports."

Ganesh leaned against his chair and allowed his eyes to drift upwards, "The facts can change depending on where the pendulum of wealth and power swayed."

There was an interval of silence or two before he stared back at Ina again, citing, "Hinduism was my wife's religion and, to honor her, I tried to throw myself at the mercy of her gods. I thought for a time that to be religious like her meant I can somehow preserve who she was even though she no longer lived."

He chuckled, eyes fluttering shut, "A paltry attempt for a lifeline."

✶⇢⇢

She barely batted an eye when he used the term "whore" loosely to refer to her person. At this point she was fine looking pass through the derogatory meaning of such an address; it was flimsy at best and will never capture what she remains at her very core.

Ishtar chose to focus on the tiny revelations that more or less allowed her a glimpse inside the man's tortured psyche. His philosophy about the caprices of power was something she could appreciate. With her current standing as a relic of a glorious past, Ishtar knew exactly just how fickle that pendulum does swing.

"You're a man with a few tricks of your own to trade..." she trailed off only because she got distracted with the fact that he had taken it upon himself to feed her by putting things on her own plate.

It was curiously fatherly more than anything, but she decided to ignore and go on instead, "...and you had an illustrious career of notoriety. Some police and media are in your retainer too, aren't they? But then again it's the way this world works; mutual back-scratching."

Ishtar picked up her fork and sliced through the lettuce and mango so they were bite-sized the moment she ate a piece.

She finished chewing first before adding, "I have to ask; what do you really want to do with me tonight, sahib? You propositioned me earlier without the promise of money. Is it merely your company that I have to be compensated with?"

But then Gaitonde began to reveal something deeply personal about his late wife, which effectively caused her to cease talking.

It didn't last that long and she soon found herself placing a hand on top of his own.

"What humans can aspire for--what we all should aspire for is not a life without pain, but one that's lived well. And being alive comes with its inevitable portion of such pain."

Squeezing his hand once before withdrawing, Ishtar tucked a strand of hair behind her ear with the other.

"There is no running away from life, and trying to wish away suffering only makes it more present."

⇉❂⇇

His mouth itched for another joint. Now that the hunger of his belly had been appeased, he needed a stronger remedy for the seige of this ailment that was far too close to his heart, clogging the ventricles.

Being touched by this woman again was beginning to get under his skin. There was a maternal warmth to her that made it nearly impossible to see her again as anything but a sexual object.

The more she spoke her views frankly and asked piercing questions, the more she was transforming into the younger version of Kanta Bai, which is humorous.

He would laugh, if only the comparison didn't unsettle him too.

No, Ina was also like Cuckoo in some respect, but Ganesh was not even sure if he wants to fuck her some time in the near future anymore. He's acquired a taste for young virgins, and Ina did not possess that bankable innocence and inexperience that Jojo's own whores usually brought to his doorstep.

"Kind words," was his only response as he watched her through half-lidded eyes.

Ganesh leaned forward to the table and took her hand for himself this time.

"If I buy you off from your pimp and make you my official in-house woman," he said, "How much do you reckon he would let you go for? Because I meant what I said that I will offer you more than money and luxury."

Holding her hand while this proposition was going on seemed rather sketchy. Any third party might assume they were even lovers because of how they're speaking in hushed tones, as if they're spilling heartfelt declarations.

And so Ganesh withdrew away now too, looking slightly annoyed about that foolish possibility.

"I enjoy you, Ina, or whoever you really are," he decided to admit. "You seemed educated. Maybe you came from a good family in the Middle East and just decided to travel abroad for your own gain. I don't care to learn your story. I won't interrogate you about it. Fair bargain, no?"

He entwined his fingers together as he bared his cards on the table., "So, with that in mind, I ask you again: what's the price of your freedom?"

✶⇢⇢

She alternated between staring at his face and upon their clasped hands before he pulled away. The heat of his skin on her own admittedly made her tingle, mostly because she can sense the musk of his lust for her finally bubbling up to the surface.

There was still a tinge of that other indecipherable want, of course, but at this point Ishtar will set it aside.

The silence that followed after his proposition was deafening, even to her own ears. She perfectly understood what he had said, but something inside her refused to give an answer just yet because the uncertainty on her part was heavier than she could have anticipated.

And it wasn't as if she hasn't received such attention since she came to Mumbai. Her most regular clients strived to buy her off. The excuse her pimp gave time and time again was that none could really meet the price, but the truth was Ishtar simply didn't want to be owned by one man (or woman) only.

She was adamant about this rule. Soon enough, maybe another ten years from now, she may have to migrate again to keep suspicions from rising. After all, she never ages, and if people decades ago haven't noticed it because she was concealed for a time, they certainly would be alerted to it now.

"Ina" has built quite the reputation for herself. And now Ganesh Gaitonde wants her to become his 'in-house woman', as he phrased it.

"You know, sahib," she piped up at last, "I'm truly surprised that it had taken us this long to meet."

There is a dangerous allure in becoming this notorious don's official bed companion. Ishtar was highly tempted. The smirk placating her fine features can attest to that.

"I will talk to saab," she meant her pimp. "You can come back to the club some time tomorrow to speak to him yourself. Whenever's convenient, Gaitonde-ji."

The change of address again rolled easily from her tongue.

And as she reached for his hand, the fingers tenderly slipped across his wrist instead, with the thumb massaging him on the pulse.

"But how sure are you that I'll be worth the purchase when you have yet to sample me?"

Her tone was hushed yet rife with invitation.

⇉❂⇇

A softening around Ganesh's eyes became apparent as soon as Ina pointed out how bizarre it truly was that they have never met until this extraordinary night. He didn't outright agree with her and instead busied himself finishing the rest of his meal.

The don gestured at a waiter and told him to pack up what was left of the food on the table since his companion obviously had no interest in dining. He also instructed that the to-go food will be carried by his men by the door.

This was confirmed when Ina took his hand then caressed his wrist with probing fingers. She didn't even bother being subtle about this.

He cocked an eyebrow once before he grabbed the velvet case next to him so he could pocket it.

"Fine," was his curt response.

From under the table, he rubbed his foot against her ankle, reminiscent of her own playful gesture earlier at dinner.

"Take me to that favorite place of yours."

He rose from his chair abruptly and pulled his wrist away from her grasp. Ganesh didn't bother with the bill since he already has an outstanding account open at this restaurant. He just gestured once at the two new recruits guarding the entrance, who looked like they have just finished eating themselves.

One of them stood up to approach Ganesh and the two men shared a brief exchange regarding what comes after.

Afterwards, he tapped Ina by the shoulder, "Come. If you prove to be as good in your trade as you are in conversation, then I should be getting my money's worth for the long haul."

He adjusted the sleeves of his leather jacket and went ahead without waiting for her. A few curious eyes followed after him, but Ganesh didn't look at any of them.

He just stepped out of the place once and for all. Outside, the don took out another rolled joint from his case and let it perch between his lips.

✶⇢⇢

Beneath the smile Ishtar readily flashed as Gaitonde stood up to take his leave first, there were also small traces of confusion and annoyance.

He didn't seem that eager to bed her at all, which is hardly something she ever had to deal with. Her 'trade', as he put it, depends largely on her desirability. It was the very essence of her power--this weaponized sex appeal.

Ishtar didn't immediately follow after Gaitonde and, when she finally decided to stroll out, she even took her time. She glided the path leading to the other tables, making sure she was not only seen by the men, but that they would also be unable to tear away their gazes from her.

Once satisfied and made secure by the whispers that dwelled in these men's loins she hastily absorbed, Ishtar joined Gaitonde by his side.

"I know you think you know this city very well," she remarked, "But there are still aspects to Mumbai that even the king of Gopalmath has yet to see."

She cupped the side of his cheek loosely, with the tips of her fingers just grazing his skin, "You're weary, maybe even battered by the circumstances of your past in which you kept losing grip of what was real and what should never be."

Ishtar leaned closer and allowed for both hands to frame his face. The years truly had not been the kindest to Ganesh Gaitonde. She knows he was only approaching middle age and yet the more she looked, the more it becomes clear that he was older, almost withering, inside.

A life in constant pursuit of greed and violence add more lifetimes on your face like that. And to be godless in a country founded on the fervor of the faithful, a blasphemous criminal like Gaitonde had learned to dig himself a hole somewhere in his mind that he won't climb back out, not when darkness proved to be an ally which helped him thrive.

This brittle man with his swamp-infested eyes and ready finger on a trigger--Ishtar can make a believer out of him yet.

Playfully, she snatched the joint from his lips and placed it upon her own instead.

"Say goodbye to the ghosts and come to me," she clasped his hand next and stepped forward in a direction. Each hurried step is still measured, and she would once in a while look over her shoulder towards him.

She was like a dotting mother, leading him to where it could begin anew for him again.

⇉❂⇇

The woman was surely taking her time back inside the restaurant, but this short reprieve at least left Ganesh to contemplate about tonight's events. It had been a rewarding one so far.

He was actually thankful that he asked the mysterious courtesan to keep him company.

Back in his youth, he had never considered that a woman can offer more than the easy convenience of warming his bed until he met three women in Mumbai who helped him shape the man he had become.

Kanta Bai gave wise counsel without smothering him with her opinions. He trusted her with his business and his men. He would even take a bullet for her.

Cuckoo was his muse, the only one who lit him on fire each time they danced and kissed. She was meant to slip between his fingers though, as ethereal as the stars that explode from light years away.

And then there was Subhadra. She grounded him, convinced him that humanity is not about just the greed and the malice. There is something in each of us that aspires for the divine, and perhaps it was why she perished too soon, so eager for nirvana.

Ganesh was woken up from his reverie when he felt Ina's warm palms around his face, roaming with such familiarity that it almost made him wince.

A fine speech, this 'whore' spews out, but it brought a smile to his lips nevertheless. He may not wholly believe her promises, for Ganesh Gaitonde only believes in his own words and deeds, but he gripped her hand in silence and walked forward to wherever she wished to take them.

He watched the curve of her back, the thick mane of dark hair concealing her nape. His eyes traced the smooth shoulder and the wrist she had extended towards him, and felt the confident grasp of her fingers as they enclosed his.

When she turned around once, the rolled joint perched haphazardly between her lips caught his eye. He imagined the tip smoldering now, saw the tendrils climb up the air, burning gold.

And it reminded him that everyone is a phantom among dancing flames. People burn to crisp once the fire swathes them; oh, but at least the embers will twinkle, defiantly, before the snuff.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

ín whích mσrє єхtrασrdínαrч thíngs вєtwєєn αn σld gσddєss αnd α wєαrч gαnglσrd wíll σnlч вє fσrgєd вч undєrgσíng αn ímmєnsє tríαl σf fírє. 

Chapter Text

 ▬๑⟨※⟩๑▬

1988, ᴋᴀɪʟᴀsʜᴘᴀᴅᴀ

Chapter Text

↫✷✶➽

The disquiet inside the jeepney was palpable, given the swift circumstances in which Ganesh now had to bring this hybrid of a woman to one of the most secure houses he owns. 

It was not even found within the districts in Mumbai but rather located among the outskirts, in lands that were bought by private sectors for certain projects whose funds are backed by the unnamed wealthy. 

Three of those accounts were sponsored by the G-company. They often set up clandestine meetings in that area with their foreign clients, mostly socialist thugs from Europe. Ganesh used to only traffic in drugs and weapons, but he's soon tapping into that rich vein of international espionage.

Politics is where the real money is at.

So now he has an expedition to Hong Kong in two months. All has been arranged, and all there is was the waiting. 

It was still too soon to retire, and men like him--embedded in the schemes of the greedy and influential--often only retire by someone's hand or their own.

He wanted to explain to Ina the nuances of his operations as don, but he didn't trust her yet, especially knowing now what he knew about her. 

She's not human, but rather one who only wears the skin. Ganesh may have been an atheist but he was not without superstition. This was India after all; religion seeps through the crevices of your daily life no matter how stubbornly you hold your own individualism against it.

"I can always drop you off somewhere, if you want," he spoke up, near thirty minutes since they got into the jeep. He didn't look at her, however. 

"Where does a creature like you really live? Among the trees in a haunted forest? Or do you live under water, only to be summoned by the right incantation?"

He was patronizing in his tone, but the truth was he did fear her. But he knew that fear stemmed from ignorance, and any action driven by that same fear will be barbaric. Ganesh thought himself more enlightened than the average gods-fearing man; he won't persecute Ina readily, toss her to a mob and let them rip her to pieces.

He's seen firsthand what she could do after all--how beautiful she was at the height of her power. She had outlived the bullet of a gun; she incinerated those assassins. 

And when he fucked her he felt like he understood Nirvana for the first time. Been taken to it while he rutted inside her. It was the closest thing to tasting divinity in a form he can consume.

Ganesh turned to her at last, the scrutiny in his dark eyes sharp yet also wary.

"I'd like for you to stay though and come with me," he admitted. "I want you. I think I'll starve if I can't have you. Is that what you are? Are you some type of demon who brings men pleasure, even at the brink of death?"

A hand brushed over hers before it soon shifted upward to fondle one of her breasts. He leaned in to kiss her on the side of her throat then withdrew completely.

No, he should be stronger and resist her enticement.

Ganesh instead focused on where they are going. To see his son, the boy he loved so much but couldn't bring himself to hold in his arms anymore, not since his mother's murder.

There were days he ached to smell the clean scent of his newly washed head back when he was just a babe. But this child had grown up, and one day soon he will become a man too. Will he resent Ganesh by then for failing to be the father he deserved? 

Outside the window of the jeep, the city lights were fading the more distance they cover away from civilization. Ganesh leaned his head on the leather seat and remembered being nineteen years old, coming to Mumbai for the first time to leave the past and make his own future.

Can one really go home again, if that was the point of his departure to begin with?

✼•﹁•✣

She tried to think back to the last time when she traveled out of Mumbai. Was it when she worked part-time as an entertainer in Japan? When was that, fifteen, twenty years ago?

The one thing that stuck out of her memory was her trip to Bangladesh, but that wasn't something she wanted to dwell on again, not at present, not while she's in Gaitonde's company.

The old don's closeness was a little maddening as she sat there next to him. It was only a short time ago when they melded together as any man and woman were meant to do, and now they have to be civil for the rest of the trip.

It wasn't fair; she was hardly satiated after their rough fuck back in the isolated cornfield. The transfusion of mana was cut off, which meant she didn't feed as well as she would have liked on his life force.

A part of her wanted to straddle him right now and take what's hers. She was certain he wouldn't mind. This was the man's jeep after all, and the two boys he had with him plus the driver would most probably give them the privacy and just keep their eyes forward on the road.

But there was a look in Gaitonde's eyes that warned her not to make this all about her needs. Considering where they're going, it was no surprise he would be somber, maybe a tad moody.

A son. The great and terrible Ganesh of Kailashpada has an heir. Such a crucial information will be his undoing; anyone could exploit this, turn his son into a bargaining chip if and when the don's enemies manage to take him.

So all this secrecy was necessary. She's sure that wherever the boy was kept, it will be heavily guarded and away from those who are not a part of Gaitonde's enterprise. She bet that only a close few knew about it.

Because of the almost hour long silence inside the jeep, Ishtar was left to ruminate, right until he finally said something, and a sardonic quip about her real nature at that.

"What kind of 'creature' do you think I am, hmm?" She eyed Gaitonde, as a smile formed dangerously on her lips, "I can tell you as much that I'm no mountain-dwelling sprite or water nymph. But more than anything, being labeled a demon has to be the worst offense, saab."

She paused thoughtfully after his request that she should stay. It wasn't like she was planning on leaving, so his touch was welcome the moment his hand wrapped around hers.

And then he inched closer, so she faced him slightly to make room.

Ishtar couldn't help the moan that escaped her lips as soon as his heat was upon her again. Her own hands grasped on the front of his crumpled shirt, but no sooner did he descend to ravish her that he pulled away. Damn him!

"Nothing has changed," Undeterred, she took his hand once more and pushed it between her thighs. "If you want me, then I shall be yours. Turn this way, saab, let me taste you..."

She used her other hand to turn his face so she could press their mouths together. His breath, his life force, was potent against their kiss, and, as soon as he parted his lips, she swirled her tongue around it while also wrestling with his.

Beneath them, she grinded against his hand she had squeezed between her thighs, giving him some idea of what she wanted.

Ishtar pulled away only to examine his eyes. He still looked so haunted; a man whose seconds to mortality are ticking much faster than everyone else's. 

"Your son," she whispered while caressing his cheek, "How old was he when his mother died?" 

She doubted he would even answer her, but for now she was content to nip across Gaitonde's jaw and throat to offer him some comfort.

↫✷✶➽

He may have been preoccupied thinking about the choices he's made over the last decade, but he was also still a man with urgent needs. And so when Ina started seducing him, he couldn't seem to find the will to turn her down. 

His hand between her thighs began moving in time with how she grinded against it, the fingers closing together as his forefinger and middle slipped inside in no time.

Ganesh groaned into their kiss, the sound almost strained. The closeness was almost enough for him to forget the destination ahead, but then had to Ina bring it up as soon as she pulled back.

It suddenly felt like an interrogation and, instead of opening up to her, the old don pushed her away rather roughly, causing him to withdraw the fingers from her core as well.

"Why would that matter now?" Ganesh wiped those digits on the side of his pants before he scoffed back at her, "You said so yourself before in the restaurant; I shouldn't linger in the tragedy of my Subhadra's death. Look to the future, which has always been what I stood for."

Even though he didn't appreciate Ina trying to get him to disclose his feelings again (this damn woman just had a way to make his defenses fall), he didn't want to offend her thoroughly, not quite.

"Our deal is on, and you will be my consort for as long as we both find it suitable, but you don't get to ask questions about my son. That is not on the table. Not here. Not ever. Are we clear on this?"

The twilight spreads outside, clearing the sky of clouds as the first faint traces of light became more visible from where they sat. Ganesh stared at it with his lips set into a thin line. It had been such an exhausting night, but now tomorrow's here.

"You won't have to meet him," he added, "You'll be staying in another compound. I shall go to you once I've settled whatever I must with the boy. Wait your turn, okay?"

He glanced at Ina with a softer expression next, "I will be yours for the rest of the new day. I promise."

Ganesh almost wanted to take her hand again and give it a squeeze, but that would look too needy, and he still wanted to have the advantage here.

✼•﹁•✣

Ishtar was not pleased that Gaitonde had to resist her again. His iron will fascinated her, however; for no mortal man could command his own earthly desires the way he could, much less turn them off to save pride. Often so many men would fall for Ishtar in no time, rendered mindless by her kisses and dances.

But Gaitonde has gotten this far without going insane because of lust. He barely even looked at Ishtar that much since they came inside the jeep. And he was so dismissive and vaguely condescending, in spite of knowing that she's just not like any other human woman.

She supposed he was truly an atheist; even the very presence of an actual god did not stir any real feeling of awe and fear, or at least from what she can interpret with how he talked and acted around her.

The fact that he still wanted to claim her as his kept woman from this day forward did offer some sort of balm from the unforeseen rejection moments ago. Ishtar crossed her legs next, revealing the enticing curve of her thigh as she did.

"Fine, I agree with your terms," she acquiesced, "I have no wish to mix myself into your personal business, much less act as a second mother to your boy."

She noticed the tension on his shoulders as he looked back at her, citing something about spending time together once he's finished attending to his family.

"That's fine too. Just be sure that the compound you leave me in won't be drab and lifeless. You are a man of affluence, Ganesh. I expect nothing than to be treated like a queen. Do that and I shall be very much be the pleasing whore under the covers."

Ishtar then loosened the tangled knot of her hair so he can run her fingers through the scalp. It soothed her to do this, all while she closed her eyes and hummed.

When she opened them, she almost gasped aloud. 

Someone was sitting across from her, perched on the narrow space separating the backseat from the frontal area of the jeep.

"You!" The fallen goddess instantly recognized the apparition. Any deity worth their salt should be able to, whenever they encounter an Endless.

'yoUU aRE astaRRte!' 

She blinked at that. Delirium was this Endless called, and the youngest of the seven. She's not usually so coherent.

"Why are you here, in India, of all places, little one?" She muttered under her breath, not wishing to draw attention from Gaitonde beside her.

↫✷✶➽

Ganesh acknowledged the woman's arrogant demands with nothing but a raised eyebrow. The corners of his mouth threatened to form a smile next, but only so he could bare teeth like a wolf would towards anyone who questioned his alpha state.

Still, he said nothing and turned his attention outside again to watch the many scenes of poverty and squalor play out like a worn-out reel of cinema. He treated it with a clear-cut understanding of someone who lived in the underbelly of crime for so long that he came to expect these harrowing effects to always be in full display.

India, especially in places like Mumbai and Calcutta, did not possess false courtesies when it came to their sickness and cultural divide and decay. There were no attempts of embellishments, save perhaps by those in the high castes with their money and whores, and even then they remove themselves from being a part of the ongoing problems of this gandu of a country.

Ganesh Gaitonde was at the nexus of power and poverty, always, and it was a position he played best as he could, with crafty patience and frequent bouts of discord for anyone who would toe the line within his empire.

"I offer you only what is within my reach," he addressed Ina again after a minute has passed, "You will have your indulgences as my kept woman. Also, certain liberties and protection. But yes, you should only contend yourself with the role of bed companion."

A brief look of contempt and humor struggled to dominate the old don's face.

"You will not make a great mother, I think. Nothing about you is homely, and that's a compliment."

Ganesh nodded as soon as the jeep parked to a vacant lot, "We are here."

Just then, Del spoke to Ina directly. His imaginary companion often did that, even if no one can see her. Except, in this case, Ina could.

"Wait," he held up a hand to the chauffeur outside who paused from opening the door. He stared wildly at Ina and Del, "You can see her?"

Over the years since his imprisonment, he learned to live with the insanity of having a constant hallucination in the form of Del. She appeared every now and then, to speak in riddles and advise Ganesh in her own bizarre way. 

"Does this mean she wasn't all just in my head after all?" Ganesh was suddenly scared as he pleaded Ina for more answers by looking almost meek. 

✼•﹁•✣

She knew, despite of the understated annoyance in his features, and the so-called compliments about her lack of maternal presence, that Ganesh Gaitonde was nonetheless growing infatuated with her.

The dynamics between them continue to push and pull in a steady rate akin to that of the sea during a mid-afternoon blaze, coming to the shore in waves, then absorbed by the sand. 

But once the high tide hits at night, it would drown the land in salt and dark waters, dragging any living creature unfortunate enough to be stranded on its depths.

It's actually getting more difficult to ignore Gaitonde herself, and the call of his voided heart, this faithlessness he cradled like a badge of honor rather than expose it for the shameful emptiness it should be.

Atheists annoy Ishtar, and he was the worst of that lot.

Whatever gripe she had with him currently seemed to dissolve when she spotted Delirium inside the truck. A meeting with any Endless is as tricky as a random flip of a coin.

But that wasn't even the most disconcerting part of this; it's the fact that Gaitonde could see her. Based from his question, Ishtar could guess that Delirium has been appearing to him on constant basis. Why? 

One look at this old don again, and the fallen goddess understood. Laughter burst from her unbidden. She didn't even mean to. He just looked so small and ridiculous!

"I can see her because of what I am, sahib," she responded, "And what she is, you still don't know, do you?"

Before he could answer, Delirium immediately climbed Ishtar's lap and then said, "doGgo woRriEs Of tales unTolD. he remEmbeRS cos he hAs noO cHoicEe anyMOre. thAtz waHT loliPoPs do To yOu. TuRN u insyd gooEY and GassY."

Ishtar just shook her head in mild amusement. She forgot this one spoke in riddles that are both wise and maddening.

"We should get out and resume this conversation somewhere more private," she told Gaitonde, nodding at the man still outside and waiting to open the door for them.

"It will have to be at a later time, however. You have that brat of yours to attend to after all."

Ishtar started running her hands through Delirium's oily and stringy hair. Normally, this one hates to be touched, but she turned soft and pliable anyway as soon as the goddess showed her affection.

Ishtar would rather run her hands on the stubborn don instead, but he has his obligations at the moment.

↫✷✶➽

The frown was back on Ganesh's lips as he quietly observed Ina and Del bond like they were mother and child. It was rather unsettling, but he didn't say anything that might aggravate the situation.

He knew somehow that he's stepping on uncharted territory, and for all of his quips about having the ambition of an egomaniac, Ganesh can still acknowledge his modest place in the universe at large.

Since meeting Del, imagined or not, he's undergone a sort of liminality, an uncomfortable precipice to be in, true, but one designed to test the endurance of a self-made man such as he. And so he had made peace of Del's presence as a figment of his slowly eroding sanity that complemented his even bleaker morality, so to have Ina actually point out that Del was an independent force outside of his own control did fright the old don.

But he has hence drank and bathed fear from the moment he stepped into Mumbai, so it didn't take Ganesh that long at all to recover from the shock and remind himself of why he was even in this safe house to begin with. 

His son was waiting for him, cared for by Kanta Bai who at this point has raised him by herself in the absence of either parent. Renewed by that purpose, he opened his side of the door and stepped out without even looking back at his companions inside. He immediately ordered the man waiting there to prepare the guest room, the one that's built separately from the rest of the compound yet erected at its heart nevertheless.

Ganesh had used that place as a lounge where he could meditate and plan certain missions for his capos and underlings. He had an entertainment system installed on three of the other major rooms in this compound save for that one. He didn't want any distractions. 

There was, however, a bookshelf containing first editions from India's most celebrated poets. Literature is a treasure that cannot be refuted, even by the illiterate. 

"Come," his hand reached for Ina, clasping her by the shoulder once she's risen and followed after him. He tried not to look at Del anymore, which he had plenty of practice of during the most inopportune times when the girl would appear, sometimes even floating, with fish on her hair as if she was in an aquarium. 

To know now that she wasn't something he's fantasized for himself made him internally recoil in belated horror.

What kind of creature was she then that Ganesh and someone of Ina's type can only see?

So many questions, but not enough time to ponder on them.

Once he was informed that the guest room has been prepared, Ganesh took Ina to the familiar route where only candles and their soft lights illuminated the path. They conserved electricity here so that the entire compound would remain hidden and isolated from the townsfolk who often traveled here at night.

"Make yourself at home, as you will anyway, whether I tell you or not," he sounded almost irate, as a hand dismissively gestured at the interior of the room. 

The entire place can fit two cloisters of school girls. It had a spherical design where the windows were looming and always kept shut during the afternoons to avoid heat from soaking it.

The evening breeze was always welcome however, and the flow of airway now was most soothing, bathing the conclave. The many silks draped on the pillows and sofas were of pleasing colors; midnight blue, magenta and gold. They were spread like love letters, adoring the sections of the room in their mystery. 

On the left side of a pair of doors made of mahogany was the bookshelf, and outside those same doors was a balcony. 

"I'll come back here within an hour. Read. Masturbate. I don't care, as long as you stay here."

Ganesh allowed his gaze to linger for another moment or two on Ina, drinking in her beauty and mystique one last time before he sharply turned his back from her and walked off. 
Unfortunately, Del decided to join him. She grasped onto his hand, forcing his fingers to open to her touch. The way his jaw set at the contact spelled out that he's annoyed with her, but he didn't say anything again.

He simply vanished back into the other side of the compound, walking briskly passed the candles that peppered the otherwise empty corridors of this barely homely house.

✼•﹁•✣

Ishtar walked hand-in-hand with Delirium of the Endless, feeling rather grounded in her own element now that she had company from another realm. 

She watched Gaitonde's back as he ushered them into the halls, never once looking at anywhere else, even though the dim lighting from the candles made shadows flourish around them, like a haunting.

Her thirst has yet to be slaked, something she still blamed said man for. She was determined to make him pay for his insolence once they're in each other's arms later on. He can count on it.

Upon reaching the guest room, the first thing that caught her attention was its breadth. It was impressive enough, with more space to roam around in. And then she noticed the balcony; it was the most inviting part of the room, if she were to be honest. 

She had already let go of the Endless' hand so she can approach it. Gaitonde, meanwhile, spoke of reading and masturbating. It was only then that she saw the bookshelf on her way out to the balcony. 

Clearly, there was something about it that he wanted her to take into account. Otherwise, he wouldn't have specifically mentioned it.

"I don't want to pleasure myself right now," she called out to him just as he was about to leave, "Why else would you be here for me later, hmm? That's your goddamn point, sahib!"

But he was already gone, the chutiya. He even took Delirium with him, which left Ishtar all by her lonesome.

Scoffing, she walked into the balcony, all while running her fingers through the tangles of her lush dark hair. She thought about brushing it but was now more preoccupied looking at the city from a distance instead.

Winds blew through her, making her tighten her arms around herself next.

Soon her eyes lowered to the ground below where she noticed the same man from the jeepney staring up at her. Ishtar graced him with a smile. He staggered back and pretended to attend to whatever task he was doing before he saw her.

She thought that was cute so she tried to catch his eye again. The second time fared better. With an unspoken command, she then urged that man to find her in the guest room. He would come in to see Ishtar already plopped on a sofa, waiting in all her great allure.

Another intense gaze was all it took before Ishtar had the man's mouth between her thighs. It was what Gaitonde wanted after all. She took a book earlier and began reading the entire time.

↫✷✶➽

His feet were muffled against the floor as he stepped into the corridor that would lead him to his son's rooms. 

They were plural, of course, for a man of his means can afford to give his only child as much space and as many possessions as the boy required, if only because he had little less to give in other ways.

Ganesh wondered often, as he did now, if he was even fit for fatherhood to begin with. When he ventured out to tackle this long journey which led him at the heart of Mumbai crime and power struggles, marriage and family were never a part of that vision.

But he was still married not even six years later after he rose to power. And when Abhi was born, Ganesh remembered gazing at him with a weary wariness up until the point his wife made him cradle the babe and smell the head.

The scent of his child was sharp and appeasing. Abhi may have been unplanned and unforeseen, but he belonged to the old don nevertheless, to have and hold and love.

At least that was what he wanted to do, when Subhadra still lived and the game hasn't reached a breaking point that cost him more losses that to this day he's still making up for.

Del suddenly squeezed his hand. He flinched and tried to disentangle their fingers, but she held them in place. Even in the dim candlelight, her mismatched eyes were piercing. Unfocused, indecipherable.

"What do you want now?" He demanded, growing all the more aware she was real, made of possible flesh and sinewy and ulterior motives.

"doGgo whyY arRe yoUu angRYy wiTHh meE?"

"I'm not," he scoffed under his breath as he unpleasantly pulled her so she can keep up while he hastened his steps now, "And shut your trap. I have no wish to speak to you at the moment. I have to see my son."

Sounding rather hurt, she muttered, "I aM yoUrR frieNNd."

It made Ganesh stop on his tracks, just as he was standing by the doors of Abhi's bedroom.

"Are you? Aside from helping me kill those men long ago, what did you ever do for me that would make me think you're my friend?"

That was an unfair point to make, especially when the old don knew how much Del helped in other ways, particularly on his mental health. She was a stabilizing force, a confidant, one who heard his cries at night and endured his flaring temper when nobody else would even dare come near him during such sensitive moments.

Not that they would even know to begin with. Ganesh still kept up appearances. He was the feared Hindu bhai and butcher after all.

Del affixed him with a solemn stare before replying, "i rEcAll lesS anDD lEss aBoUT pasT tidInnGs, doGgo. icE cREam doEsntT stayY coLd fOrR a ReaSOn, buTt thEe flAvoRr staYsS tHeE saMe, if yOUu caTchH my driFft."

"I don't," Ganesh shook his head, but a mild smile did loosen his lips. "But when you're right, you're right, Del."

He grabbed her tiny waist so he can press a wet kiss on one of her cheeks. She squirmed and punched him on the shoulder, fuming. But then she wound her arms over his shoulders so she can lift herself from the ground and have her bare feet dangle.

"meAniE! yoUrRe a meanNiee!" 

Laughing, Ganesh dragged her along with both arms as he pushed the doors open.

"Good, you actually came," Kanta Bai was already walking towards him in her dull sari, unable to see he had company, "Took your sweet time with that, chutiya. Where were you?"

"Don't start," he raised a hand to silence the old woman, all while his other arm was circled around Del's thin frame. He always enjoyed how Kanta spoke to him as if he was still that same nineteen-year-old tourist who couldn't always pay his alcohol when he would visit her eatery. 

"I did make it, so where's the boy now?"

Kanta Bhai turned to waltz back into the other room attached where she usually stayed, in case Abhi needed something. The old woman and teen had lived together like this ever since Subhadra passed.

"Hurry, he's here. And put that down!" She slapped something away from the boy's hand before tugging him by the wrist.

Abhi met Ganesh's eyes with the rueful expression of a sixteen-year-old who feared and disliked the older man in an almost inseparable manner. With his head bowed slightly, he touched Ganesh's feet once with his hand as courtesy before he uttered:

"Good evening, baap. How was your trip?"

But the old don has no time for the pleasantries. He inquired, "What's the matter this time? Why did I have to be driven here in the middle of a long night just to see a son I thought by now knew better than to keep me away from the city where I work tirelessly to give him the best life? Speak up."

Abhi winced but he didn't break eye contact with his father nonetheless.

"I..." He swallowed, hands grasping one another for support, "I had a dream. About that night. With mama."

Ganesh was furious at first. Del must have sensed it because she slipped away and was gone in an instant. And then his expression went slack, eyes softening under the pressure of his son's youth and helplessness.

Nightmares about that incident, and during his wife's death anniversary at that. Abhi was only four then, but that was still old enough to remember some things.

"Let's get you to bed," he waved towards the room in question, "Come on. I'll stay with you for a while."

Abhi sighed and started walking, keeping his pace matched with his father's. "Can you stay until I'm absolutely at peace?"

Ganesh knew that was wishful thinking, but the boy was still a child in many ways, in spite of the well-trimmed and groomed mustache on his upper lip.

"Yes, I'm staying. I'm staying so the nightmares won't come for you tonight. They're afraid of me, you know." 

He gave his son's shoulder a squeeze, to reaffirm his concern, despite of his brash demeanor overall.

"I know, baap," Abhi replied meekly, as if he wanted to sink away from Ganesh's touch, "And so is everyone else."

✼•﹁•✣

It was so easy for her to grow bored by the time the man's tongue has earned its worth through enthused swipes around her clit. Ishtar finished about ten minutes later in a languid fashion, although she did hook her leg over his shoulder to squeeze against him.

With a satisfied huff of air, she then pushed off Gaitonde's man. Her next command was for him to find a girl around the compound who could give her a wash. 

The strenuous activities back in that secluded hill earlier needed to be cleaned off her pores. Perhaps one of these days she should request for her own maid. Yes, she's certainly going to make the most of this new living arrangement by ensuring all of Gaitonde's servants become beholden to her during her stay.

How long will she be staying here anyway? Ishtar didn't think that this would be her permanent residence, not if the old don's son lived here. She thought back to their conversation about his dead wife; if she perished two decades ago then the child must be closer to prepubescent if not already in his teens.

Now lying on her right side, the goddess faced the balcony and watched as faint shafts of morning light curled on the surface of brick and stone. So she has just spent the entire night with a man whom she revealed her divinity to. That hasn't happened to her in a while. She didn't trust anyone anymore, especially a mere mortal, a criminal and scourge at that.

Should she worry about it? Somehow, against all odds, she was at ease with disclosing such a dangerous truth to her new benefactor.

Call it woman's intuition or something else, but she believed Gaitonde will keep her secret regardless whether or not he could understand. After all, he's met an Endless already. And Delirium at that. 

A chuckle escaped her lips. How fitting that the aging Hindu bhai of godless Mumbai would encounter the Endless who rules over the insane, unclaimed and terribly alone.
How fitting and sad indeed.

A woman finally arrived less than five minutes later. At that point, Ishtar just occupied herself with the book of Tagore poems. Did Gaitonde even know he owned a priceless first edition of said man's work? Or did he personally hand-pick it himself because he favored poetry to fill the gaps of his soul?

For an atheist, the old don is far more sentimental than he'd ever allow people to glimpse, isn't he? But Ishtar has tasted it in his mouth, bruised by it with his thrusts; Ganesh Gaitonde felt too much and rue how that could muddle his mind.

Half an hour passed as the goddess found herself happily soaking in a tub filled with lukewarm water while the maid brushed through her back and carefully ran her fingers through Ishtar's thick mane. 

She supposed Gaitonde opted to stay with his brat after all. Since she's already made due of someone else's mouth, she didn't complain about his absence anymore and instead enjoyed being bathed and treated like the queen she once was.

This maid was somewhere between seventeen or thirty, for Indian women as pretty and smooth-skinned as her can be of any age. It didn't seem beyond Gaitonde to hire such a visually pleasing servant, and he may have partaken on her too on occasion.

"We can make something for you in the kitchen, if you want to eat, ji."

Ishtar never met the maid's eyes while she sat there on the edge of the bed now, drying her hair with the towel. Still, she answered, "Call me Nana-ji. It's easier for both of us. Do you know who I am to your saab?"

The maid was quiet for a few seconds before she replied, "Nana-ji is the new mistress. Isn't she?"

There's a questioning tone on that last part.

The goddess only shrugged and said, "I would settle for fruits, if you have any. Oranges, grapes, maybe a banana. Also, nuts. I want to eat light before I sleep."

On cue, the maid began to close a few open windows in anticipation of the heat that will seep through by the time the sun is at its peek hours from now. It would also keep the conclave in semi-darkness, suitable for rest.

"I'll be back to see to your food then, Nana-ji."

Ishtar tossed the towel to the side and made herself comfortable on the spacious mattress. There are hieroglyphics above her, splattering the ceiling with weird yet elegant shapes. She stared at them for a while before her hand found the Tagore book again. 

She decided read the passages out loud to herself, as if they were prayers.

❝αmídst thє rush αnd rσαr σf lífє, σ вєαutч, cαrvєd ín stσnє, 
чσu stαnd mutє αnd stíll, αlσnє αnd αlσσf. 
grєαt tímє síts єnαmσurєd αt чσur fєєt αnd rєpєαts tσ чσu: 
“spєαk, spєαk tσ mє, mч lσvє; spєαk, mч mutє вrídє!” 
вut чσur spєєch ís shut up ín stσnє,σ чσu ímmσvαвlч fαír!❞

The Bengali verses upon her tongue teemed with a life as elusive as the man who penned them. It put her at ease, however, as if their secrets had always been her own.

↫✷✶➽

The apprehension became apparent in Abhi's behavior as he made himself sparse on his king-sized bed. He didn't hoard it at all and simply laid his skinny frame by the edge while he pulled the covers over his chest. 

Strange, it was as if the boy was making room for others. Instead of remarking on that, the old don merely pulled the covers higher until the cloth reached his son's chin. 

"Close your eyes. I can tell you a story, if it makes it easier to drift off to sleep by listening to your baap's voice."

Abhi chewed his lower lip; it was a habit from childhood he's never been able to break. Afterwards, he nodded and snuggled closer to the edge so he can angle his body towards his father.

"Tell me about that woman you were with before mother; the one they called Cuckoo."

Now that was a rather bold thing to even bring up, especially when the boy knew that the old don never liked disclosing details about his personal life, and that included his work and the women he beds or had bedded. Tonight can be made into an exception, however. Maybe Abhi's curiosity stemmed from the loneliness he lives with, bereft of other adults aside from those who serve and guard him.

It was only a matter of time before he wanted to learn more about his old man. 

"She was tall and beautiful, like a statue sculpted by the finest artist in the land," he described, "Her body was a mystery, and so she kept her secrets close, even from me. People always looked at her and marveled at what they saw, but it was only me who truly understood her. And that was why she ran away with me and lived as my woman for six years."

Abhi blinked for a while and looked as if he was mesmerized by what was uttered. With a small exhale, he then queried, "Did you love her, baap?"

Ganesh leaned his back against the chair further as his eyes slowly droop. Suddenly, his body remembered how long and exhausting of a night it had been, right there as he faced his teenage son to tackle the past he promised himself to never dwell on again.

"I almost did, I think. You have to understand, I didn't believe love could happen to someone like me. I wasn't built for it, nor did I desire or seek it in any form. When I came to the city, I have aspirations beyond what is expected of my caste and my appearance. I wanted to be bigger, as big as I felt even as a child."

"Oh," Abhi said, "What do you mean by bigger?"

"Godlike," he admitted as his voice became husky with proud intent. "I wanted to be a god among men. And if not, then a demon no one can slay or whose thirst they can't ever slake."

Underneath the blankets, he sensed his son shiver. And so he grinned and reached out to pet the boy's hair. It made Ganesh consider the fact that sixteen was almost a man, and perhaps it's time for his son to know a woman himself. All these questions about Cuckoo certainly reinforced that idea. Maybe a girl or two would make Abhi less alone.

"Go to sleep," he rubbed his palm over the boy's face in an almost teasing and playful way.

"Baap," Abhi spoke after a short pause, "Why do you want to be a god? Is it because gods don't bleed or die? If I become a god too..." he trailed off, looking almost rueful, before going on, "...does that mean no one will ever hurt me? Will...someone finally love me?"

An uncomfortable silence stretched on between father and son. Abhi held his breath and pulled up the covers some more to obscure his face. In many ways, he will always be a child, because children who were never raised tend to grow up late.

"You don't think I love you, chutiya?" Ganesh's tone was somewhere between reproachful and amused. He rose from his chair and crawled on the other side of the large bed. This, understandably, surprised Abhi, who sat up straight and gawked at his father.

"Don't be a gandu and lie back down!" He pressed a hand over the boy's shoulder. He awkwardly slithered under his sheets again, speechless. With a chuckle, the old don got comfortable on his back, all while keeping several inches of space between himself and Abhi. The hieroglyphics etched above them on the high ceiling were hypnotic somehow. He remembered that he chose them in particular because Subhadra often drew them during her spare time. 

"Your mother liked to paint almost as much as she liked to make sweets," he revealed.

He could hear his son shuffling closer, staring at him with wide eyes as he said, "Really? Was she any good?"

"She never let me look," Ganesh was smiling in recollection now, all while still gazing at the ceiling, "I try to take a peek and she hides them away from within reach. She was shy like that, but also very opinionated once you get her started. Only in private, because she respected me enough not to argue with me when among my men."

"Oh," Abhi sounded almost wistful, but there was an edge to his tone that suggested sorrow as well, for a woman he never knew but wished he had.

Ganesh turned only to pat the boy on what he assumed was his shoulder under the blanket.

"Go on," he rubbed that spot, "Get some rest. It's almost morning. Kanta Bai will let you sleep for a few more hours, but you know how she is. She doesn't spoil you at all, does she?"

"No, baap," he was smiling now too as his eyes close, "But that's why she's taking care of me, right?"

Instead of answering, Ganesh watched Abhi lose consciousness in the next five minutes as his breathing slowed down and he no longer spoke or moved. The old don barely did anything either except marvel at the fact that this teenager used to his baby a long time ago. He wondered...would his head smell the same?

He moved closer before he could doubt himself and then sniffed. The boy's hair smelled of stale shampoo which was a clean scent. Nothing like when he was an infant, true, and yet it still comforted Ganesh, just as it reminded him of how much of Abhi's childhood he missed out on.

"Goodnight and morning, my fearless (अभी) one." 

He lingered above the boy's head for a second or two--almost like he wanted to kiss him. But he quickly squashed that thought and pulled away from his son, before leaving the bed altogether to see to Ina back in the other rooms.

✼•﹁•✣

As soon as she had eaten the fruits and nuts, Ishtar grew sleepy and curled her body against the pillows around her, like a very content cat. 

Even gods need rest, especially one who has summoned her power hours ago when she burned those men who tried to kill Gaitonde. That display took some small toll on her body; she wasn't at her prime anymore. 

And yet, she would admit, that it brought her pleasure to have demonstrated her powers like that; to live out in the open even for one brief damning moment.

She purred against the sheets as she thought about how Gaitonde looked at her after it happened. There was fear and hunger, but neither force canceled the other out. She wondered just how far she can push herself in the future, in case she needed to perform miracles again.

How much can he offer as sacrifice? How many more had to die so he could witness her dance? 

The very possibility thrilled her, she won't lie.

As she allowed for slumber and the night's soothing temperature to claim her, the sound of someone climbing into the bed startled Ishtar, but only slightly.

She turned to meet the mismatched eyes of Delirium next. The youngest Endless, as she was deemed, had hair of the sunset-shade with curls that ran amok as the incontinent girl who has it.

"Hello, little one," Ishtar smiled and reached to take a few of her orange strands of hair so she can curl them around her fingers, "Why did you leave his side? You seemed rather fond of the old man."

"heE doES not alwaYYs likE meE baCK," Delirium snuggled to the goddess, still staring unblinkingly at her, "LowW suPPly on chiCKenN nuGGEts, andD he knoWws. mAyYbe i sHouldD leaveE. buT tHe waYy baCK is toO loNG anDd i donT wanT to seE hiM sAdD agAinN."

Ishtar hummed and pressed closer to the Endless until they're almost bumping noses. Aside from the brother of Delirium whom she 'dated', their kind has always made the goddess at odds with them. 

It's because unlike everything else both mortal and divine, the Endless are beyond reality, almost to a point that the rules don't apply to them anymore. Delirium might creepy and she spoke in code that even she can't decipher for herself, but she was harmless.

"From what I can understand," Ishtar remarked, "You only appear to those who have lost their minds or had their sanity questioned, if not destroyed. Is that what happened to Gaitonde?"

But Delirium just covered her eyes with a hand, whispering, "hEe doEsnT beLonG to tHeE hiLLsiDe wiTh thE peoNies but rAtherR tHe rumMmblinG forEsts goiNg vvrrrmM scrUncH scRunCh SCREEEEE!!!"

And then she rolled off the bed, disappearing below as she took a sheet along with her. Ishtar chuckled at both the words and the motion and found herself following after the said girl.

To her surprise, she was not in the room at Gaitonde's compound anymore.

"Delirium?" She called after her missing companion as she suspiciously gazed around the lush evergreen of the forest now surrounding her. Suddenly, she recalled what the little Endless said earlier.

Is this what she meant?

Whatever it was, she's been transported to Delirium's dimension now. She has to figure out why though. Does it have anything to do with Gaitonde?

Not letting panic to overtake her since there really was no reason for it (at least not yet), Ishtar walked around the forest which was dense with trees and yet the path was narrow. Are they still in India? The weather definitely makes her think they are.

"Where are you hiding, little one?"

After a few minutes, Ishtar found a shack. She squinted her eyes at it, getting rather tired and impatient of this spontaneous hide and seek.

And so Ishtar wasted no more time and barged into the shack, lifting the thin layer of curtain that served as a door. 

"Delirium, are you here? You need to take me back, please."

Instead of the Endless in question, there was a young boy asleep asleep in the cot. Further inspection revealed that it was someone familiar, and possibly not as imagined as she hoped.

Ishtar bent to her haunches and touched the boy's cheek. He was warm and flushed, possibly due to a fever.

The boy stirred awake and fluttered his eyes slowly. He stared up at her for a few seconds before he sat up in surprise.

"It's okay," she reassured him, "I'm your friend."

Hastily, she corrected herself, "Well, a friend of your mother's."

What else could she say? Nothing about this makes sense. So she just went along and asked the boy, "You must be Ganesh, am I right?"

"Yes. Who are you?"

↫✷✶➽

He didn't head directly to the room where he assigned Ina to stay in, but rather took another route that led him to the gardens outside. They weren't aesthetically pleasing per se, but he had plans for what they could become. It was only recently that he's decided to convert them to a labyrinth that would stretch across the compound, covering some of the vacant rooms that would have to be torn down by now.

This estate--a loose term in every sense--had ghosts, and they proliferated among the cracks on the walls, clinging like soot in people's pores. Gossip among his servants and henchmen painted this place haunted which, naturally, an atheist like Ganesh was quick to deride and dismiss. 

Why would a monster aspiring to be a god fear ghosts anyway? 

It was why he could stroll across these wide, open spaces without a care in the world, shining a single torch every now and then to inspect anything out of norm, and not just to illuminate his path.

The howling dogs from a distance certainly delivered on the creepy ambiance, but Ganesh, yet again, did not flinch or hurried on so he can leave soon.

"There should be a fountain here," he spoke to himself as he pointed the torch towards the direction to his left where a patch of overgrown grass and wildflowers converge. The only real threat here were snakes and other poisonous insects that could be lurking underneath each blade, but Ganesh recalled he had exterminators combed through these spaces just a few days ago too.

It should be fine. No ghosts or rodents or serpents. These gardens will soon become the labyrinth of his dreams. The construction should take only a month, since there's enough manpower and equipment to go around.

Content of what he has observed in his property, in spite of the overwhelming dark he had to sift through with his single torch, the old don walked back inside the compound to visit Ina at last.

There were mud stains on the hem of his pants, and the respite of the night's cold air has long dried his sweat, but at least it also soothed the fatigue from the excursion hours ago.

He glanced up as he headed to a door, glad to see that the twilight was almost upon him. Is Ina sleeping at the moment, that trollop of otherworldly nature he invited to live with him from now on? Ganesh didn't have regrets doing that. She was new and vibrant and interesting, and she held power like he has never seen before.

How could he not make something of that, while she's still his to keep?

Within five minutes, he arrived to that room where she's secured. The candles on the ground have all but burnt out, and the wax dripped and coated the floors in different shades. What little light made Ganesh a shadow that emerged from nowhere; the true apparition who haunts these halls, forsaking human form.

✼•﹁•✣

It didn't look like Delirium will cease this make-believe scenario any time soon, and Ishtar knew better than to defy even the tiniest of whims of the youngest Endless. Yes, in many ways the other acted like a child who has never learned to speak in a straightforward manner nor learn how to spell, but she remained--and ever was--the epitome of mental anguish and psychological chaos.

Such power was fearful to behold.

Her realm belonged equally to geniuses and madmen, where creativity can meet delusion and incoherence. In best cases, there is transcendence in giving up your sanity for some higher purpose. At worst, well, Delirium could shatter someone's reality into billions of pieces, each shard more jagged than the last, until it cuts up that person, and they never become whole again.

Gods likes her are not exempt from this. She's met fellow deities who fell prey to such tender touch of madness before.

At the moment, her gaze was fixed upon the young Ganesh, whose black eyes didn't have the sharpness of his much older counterpart. He instead looked up at her in awe. This might be the first time he's ever graced upon a beauty such as hers, and Ishtar won't deny that it was a flattering look.

"Ji," the boy addressed her, "I don't think my mother could be friends with the likes of you. Are you from another village?"

He crossed his arms over his chest, as if he was attempting intimidation, never mind that his appearance alone could not accomplish such an effect. Still, he kept going, "They don't like her around these parts, and if you say you're friends, then are you of the trade?"

Something in his expression changed and that passing look of fear almost made Ishtar feel sorry for the poor boy. But he then proved once and for all he was still very much the Ganesh she will have met decades from now, when he raised a finger to cite, "If you are a whore, I then you should know that I have no money. I'm also too young to put anything in, so go! Take the temptation of your body elsewhere!"

Ishtar scoffed before playfully ruffling his hair. He pushed it away and actually growled under his breath. Like a puppy.

"I am not of that trade, at least not yet," she answered earnestly, with a wicked twinkle in her eye, "And I also did not come to you on my own volition..." as she said this, she glanced over her shoulder.

Delirium jumped out on cue. She spread her arms to the sides and--to Ishtar's shock--young Ganesh slipped into that embrace as he tackled the Endless to the ground. The two children then laughed and frolicked like old friends.

"I see," the goddess remarked as a knowing smile now appeared upon her lips, "You have known Ganesh since he's only a wee boy. He treated you as a friend and confidant long before he saw you again many years from now."

Delirium laughed and added, "hEe is mY doGGo. aNd hEe loVved meE moRre tHan heE can remEmbEr eVveR fEeLingG soO."

"But why would you show me all of this? I don't understand why it would make any difference," the smile widened as she looked back at the Endless suspiciously, "Are you, perhaps, unhappy that I'm challenging your claim on his mind? Well, you are free to feast on it. Just leave me his manhood and heart. There are also plenty of sweet meats that we can pick and choose between us, you know."

And then Delirium stood up to stomp her foot. Young Ganesh did the same too, though he couldn't possibly understand what was going on.

"YoU doNN't gETT itT!" her mismatched eyes bore a kind of lucidity that seemed thoroughly unlike her, "hEe is jusSt my doGGo. if yOuu wAnnt to shArEe hiMm, you nEEdD to aSsK tHe fAt caNdy sNatcCheR. i dOntT taLKk to hImM anyMorRe siNcE hEe stOLe mY swEetSs."

"Now you've lost me," Ishtar shook her head as she tried to keep a good humor about all of this, "What candy snatcher? And can you please take me back? Your 'doggo' at present is probably wondering where I've gone off to."

Delirium gnawed on her bottom lip as if she wanted to say something else but, in no time, she's lost her train of thought (as she's prone to) and just quickly snatched the goddess' hand while the other was holding onto young Ganesh's.

"Now hold on!" Ishtar would have protested that the Endless couldn't possibly bring the boy along, but the next thing she knew she was waking up from the bed inside the quarters she'd been sleeping in. The streaks of light coming from the sun now on at its full peak outside almost blinded her since it looks like she was positioned to face the balcony. She swore the servant covered up the windows in curtains earlier. And how many hours has it been?

She slowly sat up and rubbed the slumber from her eyes. Has Ganesh come back?

↫✷✶➽

Once inside the large room where he's left Ina to amuse herself with books of poetry, Ganesh at last allowed himself to give in and feel the full strain and impact of his exhaustion. 

Tonight will go down in history as a memorable one. He won't be forgetting it soon, not now when he has acquired a woman to show for it. 

The old don was not surprised to find her asleep. She looked so tame and exquisite as she laid on the silk sheets like that. Her Arabic allure was as sharp as ever too, the rich dusk of it could even rival any star-studded night-sky.

Ina was on her back, chest rising gently as she breathed in out, and even hummed every now and then. The more Ganesh watched her, the more it occurred to him that she must be having a dream. There was something about the way her lips pursed and her eyelids squeeze that made him wonder what a creature like her could dream.

Against better judgment, he sat on the edge of the bed on her left , with his back on the windows. He stroked her hair once, twice before his forefinger hovered on the arch of her forehead and went down to trace the bridge of her nose before it stopped above her lips.

Her beauty might make him ache between the legs, but he supposed he needed to make sure he practiced restraint every now and then too. From what he cold tell about Ina, she seemed rather determined to consume him. 

And he can't shake off the feeling that it might mean more literal than symbolic. What is the manner of monster is she? And why did the idea of fucking her still leave him hot and bothered.
Ganesh propped himself on the other side of the king-sized bed as soon as he kicked his shoes off. He laid on his right side, not even looking at Ina. It didn't take that long for slumber to take over...

*

He awoke to the sound of curtains being ripped from the windows. Unforgiving sunlight poured right into his face. The old don must have moved some time last night because he was now facing in that direction.

"Do you have a death wish?" He snarled at the servant who dared interrupt his sleep.

The only one who would have the guts was Kanta Bai, and the aging woman stood there, hands on her hips.

"Get up. It's almost noon," she demanded, "Breakfast at the hall. You should eat with your son. I'm sure your whore can wait."

And that was that. At sixty-three years old, the woman was a maternal figure who believes in tough love and knew how to thrive in tougher times. She and Ganesh respected one another, but that respect came with the unspoken agreement they will always speak their minds to one another, free of judgment at all times.

The old don grumbled and stretched his arms to appease the ache on his joints. It was then he noticed that there was a book he had leaned on during sleep.

He lifted and inspected the Tagore volume with disinterest at first before he remembered what they contained. 

Back in Islampur, his mother was uneducated like most women in the village, and his father--a Brahmin priest--spent months teaching her how to read and write in the early days of their courtship, and this was the book he decided to teach her reading first.

Ganesh placed it by the bedside table carefully and then put on his sandals so he can join his son in breaking fast on the main hall. 

He came back twenty minutes later to find that Ina still slumbered. It would have been easy to wake her, but he didn't feel like dealing with her yet. 

So he took a long hot shower and did yoga for another hour. When he cane back to the room, she had at last awoken.

"There's food, very delicious, made by a cook I favor," was the first thing he said as he approached her. He was dressed in loose beige robes, with a towel around his shoulders.

"I'll have someone to bring it here for you," As much as possible, Ganesh would prefer to keep her sequestered, at least until the labyrinth was finished. He planned to move her inside special cabin separate from his son's quarters, and that would be located at the very end of said maze. 

He noticed next that Ina looked rather spooked. It made him cup her chin so he can examine her further.

"Is it Del?" He guessed easily enough. That one was a troublemaker after all.

✼•﹁•✣

There was no hesitation in her voice whatsoever when she answered, "Yes. It was Delirium of the Endless. She took me somewhere. It wasn't very pleasant."

Her voice came out slightly hoarse so she coughed to clear her throat. Afterwards she wrapped her hand around his wrist, as if to keep his own latched on her chin like that.

She used that now to leverage herself in which she towards him with her back arched like a cat's, in need for more contact.

"It had been a cold night without you here, sahib. You should never leave me too long."

Ishtar tugged and tugged until he's forced to climb the bed. Unconcerned about the haphazard position of their limbs, she cupped his face so she can kiss him next, moaning into the clumsy tango of their tongues so uncharacteristic to a woman of her expertise.

The desperation in this should be transparent to Gaitonde. Something about the dream clearly shook her and she couldn't even provide a concrete reason for it. Anything to do with an Endless often has that effect. It was certainly a funny thing that for someone who had been a consort to Olethros long ago, a powerful being responsible of chaos and destruction, was now more frightened about his little sister--the one who was once Delight.

Well, there was hardly anything delightful about that little shit.

"You should make better friends next time. But, then again, maybe you know exactly how to pick them. First, Delirium. And now me."

Chuckling, she stared into his eyes, "You're one of the few mortals who has so far survived being touched by an Endless and ensnared by a deity. Perhaps..."

She started to nip at Gaitonde's jaw next, all while as her hands slithered down to explore his body.

"...you are as great of a man as you've always fancied yourself to be."

The fabric they're both wearing was getting in the way for a more heated contact and so, with an aggressive impatience, Ishtar pushed the man off her and swung one leg so that she was the one who has him pinned down on the sheets against his back.

It took less than several seconds for the goddess to get undressed. She wore so little after all; flimsy material so easy to discard.

She didn't give him any more time to protest or try to outmaneuver her. Instead, the goddess pushed the hem of his robes until the fabric almost covered his face, so that she can tug at the garter of his cotton boxers underneath and roll that down to free his manhood.

By the time Ishtar began stroking and pumping Gaitonde to a semi-erect mast, she also dipped her head so that her tongue could swipe around the swollen head, teasing it. She then sucked as hard and fast as she could, savoring every inch of his girth going in and out of her skilled mouth.

Her other hand cupped his balls, fingers deftly kneading them in a way that would weaken his knees that total surrender would be the only thing he can offer back in return.

She ignored his own movements in response to hers. If he would ever try to get in a more comfortable position or touch her in kind, she will simply follow after him and moan in between.

With both hands now wrapped around his manhood, Ishtar swallowed it whole, tasting the inviting saltiness of his pre-cum along with it. She bopped her head and hummed against the sensitive skin. The heat has pooled from her gut by now and curling all the way down to her clit. The tingling in that spot was almost painful.

She pulled away from Gaitonde so that she could hop onto his lap and align his cock to slide inside her. Abruptly, she slammed herself against him so that he would be fully sheathed. Her hips started to grind too, colliding with his own in time with his thrusts.

This was the most natural thing for her. The rest of the world could get treacherous and confusing, with dwindling resources and confidants as eras come and go, but the pleasures of the flesh could always provide Ishtar with clarity. Give her a sense of fulfillment unrivaled by other pleasures.

Right now, she needed this more than anything. Her body ached for a feeding, especially since they had been unfortunately interrupted last night. Gaitonde will not deny or delay them this release anymore. She'd punish him if he dared.

↫✷✶➽

Ganesh had finished a revitalizing session of yoga just now, so he was in a good mood, unburdened of anything that weighed him down since last night. As soon as he stepped into the room, he was glad to see Ina has woken up, even if she rose from what she confirmed later on was a nightmare.

That got him worried. He wasn't nearly as callous as he often talked and acted, and a woman displaying vulnerability is something that stirs a protective instinct in him the same way it often would with most men.

Such a moment passed in favor of Ina ravishing him with hungry, demanding kisses.

He didn't expect her to get so frisky already. Her assertiveness when it came to acceptable bedroom etiquette was a welcome change in the dynamics. Even the boldest of Jojo's escorts always hesitated to act more daring when with the king of Gopalmath.

This was why he didn't mind that she took matters into her own hands. However, he also latched on to what she said about Del. Ina had called that little girl 'Delirium' of the 'Endless'.

It was all Ganesh could focus on to the point that he wanted to stop all of a sudden. But no sooner that he thought of that when he dismissed it just as quickly. This was Ina's fault--she knew exactly what she was doing with her mouth and hands. Moments later, the pleasure built up; an exquisitely torturous heat engulfing their bodies, reminding him just how badly they both needed to do this and damn everything else.

And so the old don has set aside the conundrum regarding his young friend and gave all of himself to the passion. While maintaining her rhythm, he thrust into her mouth, groaning as her tongue lavished his cock with rough strokes.

When she climbed atop him and accepted him inside her, Ganesh gripped her hips securely and welcomed her pelvis colliding against his. He buried himself to the hilt as she rocked back and forth, and after a few minutes he was pinning her back on the mattress with her legs bent over his shoulders.

He fucked her with the roughness and cruelty he knew she would like whilst his fingers combed through the locks of her hair and pulled them. With a firm grip on her hair, he used that to switch positions so that she would be half-curled on her left side next.

Ganesh entered Ina again by molding his own body to lie the same way, all while he lifted one leg to get a better angle as he thrust in and out with merciless precision. It seemed as if he would never be content unless she's left bruised and bleeding.

Some time during the act, they rolled off the bed and landed on the floor. The hardwood did nothing to dissuade him even if the surface would make his muscles ache once this is all over. For now the old don just cupped her buttocks so Ina can have an easier time to lift her hips while he fucked and fucked into her wet tightness with an almost break-neck speed.

His climax took him by surprise. Ganesh used to have better control, but here he simply let loose and forgot himself. He ended up gnashing his teeth on a spot in Ina's left shoulder, as he filled her with his seed and squeezed her buttocks again as he did.

He didn't pull out just yet and spent several seconds just heaving and blinking away the white spots from his eyes after such a strong unraveling.

"The things you can do..." He muttered against her lips when he gave it a small peck afterwards. Without realizing what he was saying, he offered, "I should have you bed my son one of these days. He deserved only the best whore in Mumbai."

And that's when Ganesh disentangled from Ina. He wiped the perspiration from his hairline with the hem of his robes before he appraised her next.

"Finally satisfied? Can we talk about Del? There are things I need to know about that girl starting with that word you used--Endless."

✼•﹁•✣

In all her decades as a kept whore, Ishtar barely found any man to satiate her need to be dominated. No fiend was more suited to do it then--to inflict this level of violence during carnal consummation--than Ganesh Gaitonde. 

She was so thrilled that she'd been right about her presumptions of him all along that the moans which spilled out of her were vile and uninhibited. A goddess has never sounded so feral before. Anyone who might be near the vicinity of the rooms can feel the secondhand heatwave of lust reverberate, rising from the their guts until the lungs and throat are clogged with it.

Gaitonde positioned her body in any pose he saw fit for the next fifteen minutes, which excited her so much that the first torrent of orgasm erupted right as he took her from behind. It leaked down from her inner thighs, soaking the skin in clear yet sticky fluid. But he didn't seem to notice himself, so lost was he from claiming and debasing her right until they tumbled out of the bed and landed on concrete floor. Ishtar howled in bliss and locked her legs around his torso even more tightly, coiled like a snake about to devour prey.

And when he filled her to the brim with his hot seed, she clenched everywhere. Her muscles strained from the tautness that threatened to break her mind. It was the second time that she'd been undone; and it was ever so sweet, punctuated by one last ram of Gaitonde's cock buried inside her still spurting cum. She dug her nails on his back then brought the fingers to clutch him by the shoulders in an almost desperate possession. 

She returned his lazy kisses and only chuckled when he announced that he'd like to give her as a present to his teenage son. Best whore in Mumbai? No, sahib, try the entire continent, even going as far as the Middle East.

Ishtar didn't bother covering up or even closing her legs. She simply rested her weight on her elbows implanted on the floor. Dark eyes vigilant, she observed the old don with a quiet appreciation and approval of what he could do with the spear between his legs that dangle right in front of her, as if goading the fallen goddess to take it into her mouth once more. And so she did.

It was while she's caught up fellating Gaitonde when he inquired about Delirium. Ishtar was in no urgent mood to speak of riddles that were the Endless, not with a mouthful of cock at the moment, so instead she raked her fingers on his thigh while the other hand searched for his so she can make him cradle the back of her head. She focused on making him explode inside her mouth in a stretch of three minutes, and once the salty surge of him hit her tongue and gums, she swallowed all of it unprompted and stared up with eyelashes batting.

"You want to know about the Endless?" she wiped some of his essence that trickled down her chin, "Then you have to promise me that you will keep them a secret, and that you will never try to understand."

She paused as she rose to her feet, only to fall back down the mattress. With her back pressed against the large pillows, she added, "But tell me first about your childhood. What was it like to grow up with a father from a Brahmin caste? I know some of your history, but only the parts that you revealed to gain advantage in public. Like your caste." 

↫✷✶➽

It was the first time that Ganesh cared about how long a sexual act lasted, especially when it's going so good and could even go on for a few more rounds. However, he also can't help with how preoccupied he's become about the revelation regarding Delirium. He's believed her to be his imaginary friend only, a story he created during the most tumultuous era of his life. 

But the fact that Ina could actually see Delirium too because  said friend turned out to be a supernatural manifestation--well, Ganesh has become ailed with dread.

His body disobeyed from the rest of his mind, fortunately enough, particularly the appendage between his legs. Somehow, Ina manage to coerce ejaculation from him for the second time, and the release revived him. 

The old don has been stretched so thin in the last decade, because old age was at his heels now, and even if his greed and ambition has pretty much stayed the same, his eyes were beginning to grow dim, and there's a dull ache in his joints that he can manage with yoga and the right diet.

He supposed watching the creature known as Ina kneel before him in eager acceptance of his seed was a pleasant sight. If it wasn't for Delirium, he may have been more attentive and less likely to turn what should be a lustful meeting into a conversation about secret origins.

"It's not very smart to answer someone's question with one of your own," he started tying the ribbons of his robes before taking a seat on the bed too, near her feet. He was completely uninterested with the fact that she knew what caste he was born in, thanks to his father. She could incinerate men to death with just a seductive dance; of course she would have a way to access sensitive information such as his personal history pre-Bombay.

He doubted she gathered that from newspaper clippings our by watching the television appearances he's made in the past. She's full of shit, always had been since last night. The difference was that he can smell the stink of her deception by now.

Is she some type of witch? A malicious entity? Perhaps a sex demon? Well, Ganesh didn't feel like his life force has been depleted of him after their session.

"My childhood was common among the poor," he decided to humor her nevertheless, all while he watched her with gaze filled with intent, "I had a father and a mother who cannot provide for me. I went to a shit school, ate bland food, and was small and malnourished. We could have lived wealthy if only my father wasn't so adamant in his belief that religion is the only thing that should sustain us. He was a beggar and a bard. And my mother was a whore."

Ganesh fixed his collar as he looked across the bookshelves, "Like I said, a common tale. But I was not a common boy. I knew even then, especially when he would read me stories about gods and their myths, that I was like these figures too, larger than any other mortal man could be."

A smile spread across his lips as he turned to look at Ina again.

"But you already know this. You know how well I think of myself often and how far I've gone to prove it. Now, tell me about Delirium. And this 'Endless' you speak of. What are they? Some type of godlings from another culture?"

He then positioned himself to lie on his side there on the bed, almost perpendicular to her body. It was his way of declaring that he has no plans for the rest of the day, which meant he's got some time to listen to her orate.

✼•﹁•✣

She had, at once, leveled gazes with him while they lounged on the bed together. Much like the old don, she too was in no rush, which meant she didn't speak for a whole minute after he answered her question regarding his parents and the childhood he seemed determined to run away from. Gaitonde was right; it didn't interest Ishtar as much as she thought it would. Whatever lost innocence he used to have made little difference. The man she was looking at right now was all that mattered.

Still, she appreciated being enlightened as to how he felt growing up poor. It must have been so frustrating for such an inquisitive and remarkable boy--to feel limited and shackled to something you never chose.

"You ask for answers to questions you don't even deserve to utter," Ishtar retorted as she sat more upright on the bed. Her eyes were still on his. She could not imagine ever looking at anything at the moment but in that dark, secretive gaze.

"The Endless are not gods," she tried to explain the inexplicable now, "Rather, they are the ever dynamic consciousness of the universe, separated into seven entities, and they're old and powerful in ways that your puny mortal brain could even begin to fathom."

She brushed away the long tresses of her hair to the side and began to braid them as she went on, "First was Destiny, who lived in a labyrinth. He holds a book of stories, and it has the journey of every living organism that ever existed. And then there's Death. She giveth life and shall taketh it away. Dream is the third sibling, who only came after his sister Death because one often dies before they could dream. He is the shaper of stories, presiding over fantasy and fiction. Dream tends to fall in love with mortal beings, which is something the Endless are naught to do."

Ishtar, for some reason, felt tired just rehashing these details. She leaned her weight against the pillows on her back and stared at the ceiling to watch the way the shadows chase each other where light from the windows could not touch them.

"The one I loved--" she continued, "--he was Destruction. I say 'was' because long ago he abandoned his realm. Chaos became more random than ever because of this. Back in the desert, before the last king of Uruk perished, I danced with Destruction, led armies to court him. We were so wrapped up in one another; I, the undying queen, and he, unending."

She got quiet after that and simply closed her eyes as she breathed in and out, as if hoping each taste of air that filled her lungs would rid of the remnants from her failed romance.

"After Destruction came Desire and Despair," she sounded less enthused to tackle about this now, "Twins, for you don't get one without the other. To desire is to despair, to despair is to desire. I do what I can never to cross paths with this pair."

Slowly, Ishtar sought Gaitonde's face through the haze of her sadness. She watched as he struggled to absorb this knowledge he had no idea was even forbidden, at least not spoken in a straightforward manner such as this.

"Finally, the youngest of the Endless is called Delirium, who was one Delight. Nobody knows, not even Destiny, why she changed--why she went mad."

There was a tense pause. 

"She's been your friend for a very long time, Ganesh Gaitonde," Ishtar smiled, "When Delirium knocked on your door, you heeded without thoroughly understanding what you even let in."

↫✷✶➽

The sun outside must be at its brightest in the horizon, turning everyone in the city beyond his private compound into a sweltering mess of limbs and labor, where opportunists wait in every corner so they can bargain, steal, or blow a maderchod.

Here in the room with his purchased woman, Ganesh felt comfortable and relaxed. The effects of yoga and sex mingled just right, so he was lying there on his side without a care in the world. It was enough to open him up to the enchantment of Ina's words.

Something about this set-up reminded Ganesh so much about his only favorite time during his boyhood. Regardless of how he perceived his father and his religion, the child in him did love the stories of myths and gods which the man had passed down to him.

Somehow, he may have also believed in them, but that belief was based on the root of fascination children always have for tales of fantasy and wonder. Ganesh knew he must have outgrown them at some point, especially after he became consumed with his ambition as a young man.

And now he's been transported to that state of mind once more. He would be hard pressed to deny that the natural cynicism that came with the experiences of an adult still colored his enjoyment of whatever story Ina was telling him. But he'd like to pretend for a moment he can be made to believe that the world was magic again.

"Your Endless sounds very made-up, but a good fiction can be a power in its own," he remarked as soon as she finished. He regretted it, because something in his gut urged him to reconsider his outright dismissal.

How else can Del's existence be explained? She's no human nor ghost either. She cannot be seen by others save Ganesh and now Ina. If Del was not imaginary either, then what else could she be? Is there a way to know, to fact-check Ina's story.

Maybe there might be. The old don is a man of many means, and he can procure knowledge as easily as he would do so with drugs and weapons. One simply must know where to look and what right connections and networks should be reached out to.

"You came from one of the Arab states, did you not?" Ganesh looked across a slightly ajar window, his expression thoughtful, "You must have picked up this spiel about the Endless there, haven't you? We people of the Eastern world do love our myths far more intimately than the Europeans. But unlike the white races, we cling to ours not out of fear of the Other or to validate a false sense of superiority..."

He glanced back at her, "But mainly because we recognize we are limited, fallible creatures who could end at any moment in time. And we need to believe it's all part of a greater design."

Ganesh kept staring at Ina and wondered what she meant by her assertion that Delirium has been his friend for a long time. If that girl was supposed to personify madness, then it is rather quaint she attached herself to him now, isn't it? Or even back then...

"You're probably bored out of your mind already," he remarked as he slowly sat upright. "I reckon we should venture back into Kailashpada and talk to your pimp, so we can make this arrangement official once and for all."

The old don reached to tug at her ankle once before tickling the sole of her foot.

"Come on, Ina," he smiled, "I'd love to show you around Gopalmath. Have you ever been there, by my kingdom, among the old garbage dumps?"

He pictured her atop a ravaged hill in the middle of the day, doing that dance of hers. Somehow it wasn't right. Those hips belong to the deep dusk, don't they? That's when she causes most damage.

"I'll talk to my son first while you get ready," he stretched his arms and then rose to his feet. Glancing at her one last time, Ganesh added, "I also want you to tell me more about Del, okay? Besides, I don't think she's coming back for a while."

He walked over to he spot so he could clutch her jaw on his hand as he said, "Loosen your lips until then and spill more secrets."

✼•﹁•✣

'Spill more secrets', Gaitonde challenged, and for a moment Ishtar almost looked back at him in vehemence. She didn't appreciate how he stood tall like that over her, with a hand clamped around her jaw. She should spit at him, aim for his eyes.

But what would be the point of such antagonism? As far as the rest of the world is concerned, she had become his whore and should act as such. He was the mighty Hindu don, rivaled only by Suleiman Isa who ran off to another country. And now he's invited her to visit the cradle of his power, where the great fire swallowed his enemies and their livelihood one terrible night.

Ishtar had been there. She told Gaitonde hours ago that another woman simply narrated the story to her, but it was the fallen goddess herself who witnessed the billowing smokes make love in a sweeping swarm across the night-sky while the ground below sizzled. She remembered she was standing on top of a valley, on the other side of the large lake. It provided a good view of the mountain of garbage dumps, and even she admitted that it was an unfortunate eyesore that should have been buried away a long time ago.

And--from out of nowhere anyone would expect--here came an ordinary-looking man in his twenties, and he vanquished said filth by cleansing it with fire. His ambition to rule was just as dirty as that wasteland which smelled like a thousand corpses, and when he burned it, the stench became so toxic he would have killed them all.

Everyone's eyes had watered that night as their lungs threatened to shut down, but it was indeed a small price to pay. Once the smoke and soot cleared out a few days later, Gaitonde erected the first of many string of houses and compounds that he would use to store his contraband and precious goods.

People in the city feared and worshiped him, most days forsaking one over the other, depending on how business fared for themselves.

"Fine, I would like to go there," she agreed curtly before removing his hand from holding her face. She then rolled off to the other side of the bed, adding, "Send for that same servant from last night. She could help me wash and dress up. And I do need to eat, but I'd rather do it in that chicken place you brought me in. I think I finally have an appetite for their recipe."

As for his assertion that Delirium may have been staying away, she almost laughed. No one could predict how that little Endless would behave. She could stir more chaos than Ishtar herself, and she had just now with that dream, that slice of memory from Gaitonde's past.

"Maybe I should come with you later, hmm, and you can introduce your son to me," she offered, cocking her head to the side as she brushed her toes against his crotch, "I surely hope your wife had been attractive, and that your boy takes after her."

Not that she found Gaitonde ugly. He just wasn't conventionally handsome, and he knew this as well. It was why he could seduce women better with his power and mystery. And most of all, the promise of a never-ever-boring life. Is that how he got his tragic Subhadra to marry him? From what Ishtar could gather, that woman must have loved him back too.

Once the man is gone, Ishtar got off the bed completely and walked over to the balcony next. She wanted the sunshine to bathe her face for a few minutes first before she gets ready to leave this lonely place.

Naturally she still had her reservations about becoming Gaitonde's kept woman, but what else would she do otherwise? Risk is always better than inaction.

✼•﹁•✣

Abhi was busy doing something on his desk when Ganesh entered his rooms. The boy was even slumped over that table, far too engrossed to even notice that his father was back.

For his part, the old don decided to creep behind Abhi and peer over his shoulder just to get a glimpse of what he was working on.

Ganesh spoke up as soon as he got everything he needed. He said, "Ah, so you have your mother's talents."

"Baap!" The boy exclaimed as he picked up his sketchbook and took a step back. The sudden action caused the table to almost topple over. He held onto that bundle of papers like a well-kept secret.

Placing his hands over his hips, the old don scolded him in a playful tone, "Why do you express shame to your own flesh and blood like this? You scamper and stammer like a fool whose been dropped in the head too many times. Show me your work! Let your father have his say on what you've made!"

Abhi looked absolutely terrified that it was very sweet. He bowed his head reproachfully and then handed his sketchbook, though it was with a sheepishness that threatened to irritate his patriarch.

"Stop being so meek," Ganesh snatched the book, "You weren't raised to be sheep."

❲Someday❳ he thought, ❲you might even be king❳

The old don was uncertain, however, that his son would have what it takes to inherit such a dynasty; where the games are death-seducing, and the real allies are hardly ever known until you've made more enemies first.

"These are nice," he commented as he perused the pages, "Charcoal though? Very dirty on the fingers. But it makes sense, because your father is said to possess a lump of coal in his heart."

To his surprise, Abhi remarked, "And what's wrong with that? Fire and electricity depend a lot on coal. We wouldn't have functioning houses without it."

Ganesh looked up at the boy. "It's also very cheap. But using it all the time will kill slowly the world. Don't you think?"

"Yes, because of the carbon emissions. But so does everything else anyway."

Abhi blinked at his father. This was becoming a bizarre conversation, but both men seemed to understand that there's something else being implied here.

"And yet people still use coal because it is reliable and efficient," Ganesh handed the boy's sketchbook back. "In this life, we learn to take risks on things that may prove toxic in the long run, because that's the price of living, and with an even a higher cost to survive it."

His son smiled a smile that looked like he borrowed it from Subhadra. He said, "Life is a motherfucker and God does not give a fuck."

Ganesh returned it, which embarrassed Abhi as he placed the sketchbook behind him and hunched over like a wilting flower

"I'm taking a friend to an appointment, but we'll be back for dinner. Do you want to join us?"

He didn't know why he even thought about inviting Abhi to a private affair, especially since Ina didn't even know about it. This was not what they talked about. But the old don couldn't take it back. That would show hesitation, a weakness in a man's character.

As if recognizing the somewhat peculiar importance of the moment, Abhi straightened his back. He is at least four inches taller than his old man and may grow a few more inches before he reaches twenty.

"Yes, Baap. I will be honored."

"Gandu, I'm not trying to honor you," Ganesh gently slapped his cheek a few times before giving him a kiss on the other cheek. A certain glimpse of genuine affection filled his eyes in that moment before he stepped back and resumed his more hardened stance.

"Wear something with a collar and maybe brighter colors. Not this depressing garb you have. What is this? It looks like you've outgrown it already too."

"Yes, Baap," the boy fiddled with the hem of his shirt nervously, "I will ask Kanta bai to fetch me something else that suits the occasion."

Ganesh nodded. "Okay. Just remember you are not just anyone's son but mine. Do you understand?"

He took a step forward to eye his son evenly, "Do you think you are ready to prove what you are really worth?"

Abhi looked conflicted for a few seconds before he regained confidence as he answered, "Yes, Baap. I will be ready."

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

➷

➷

➷

➷

Chapter Text

 ︽ ✷✵ ︽

Her first lover had been the sky. It was the only entity that could keep up as she grew in power and desire.

The lands of the world couldn't do the same, not for long. There where were craters and droughts left in places where her appetites had ravaged them. 

Yet it was this same sensuous avarice that compelled so many kings and warriors to ignite fires on her altar. For decades these warmongers danced for her in the battlefield as chaos stirred in their loins.

They didn't rest until their mighty queen had been filled. Ishtar always demanded blood from the slayings of their foes and the overflow of seed which then blessed the wombs of their wives. 

But even then, she wasn't appeased. 

She gathered the sons and daughters from every village in the continent next, to dwell inside her temples as Ishinu and Isharitu, so that they, too, could engage in coitus and offer each searing union to the goddess. 

Everyone bellowed 'Inanna!' 'Ishtar!' as their lusts crashed against one another in the night, and these voices of pleasurable gratitude swept across chambers like an echo of an echo of an echo.

And still, she wanted more.

It was why it took some time for Ishtar to accept when they had all gone. When she was driven away from ancestral lands, she tried to go back to the sky where she's always adored. But the reign of her father has come to a close as the kingdoms of Akkad, Sumer, Uruk and the rest of it all mutated into something altogether ferocious that it no longer needs the blessing of old gods.

It was useless to recount the memories of the past, but Ishtar can't seem to help herself this late morning. The journey back to the sun-soaked streets of Bombay was too slow to her liking, and Gaitonde seemed rather preoccupied too, so that the entire time they barely spoke a word to each other. It took a full hour to reach the avenue where he first picked her up from the nightclub. It's never open during daylight hours, but it remained very much well-guarded.

She stepped out of the vehicle with a distant look in her eyes. There was still a matter of finalizing the details of the man's purchase of her person, and although she did agree to become his kept woman, it was still a choice that unsettled her nerves.

Her head turned towards Gaitonde. She had borrowed these pair of sunglasses from him, as well as the pious clothing she's wearing at the moment. Her body looked unremarkable swathed inside a brown salwar kameez that looked faded for being washed so many times.

Gaitonde apparently wanted her to look inconspicuous today, which she would play the part for as long as it suited a purpose. Muting down her colors in the light of day was something she's gotten very good at, actually. The white head scarf also concealed most of her features, which provided relief, for the sun was particularly roasting at this hour.

It didn't mean she was any less beautiful just because she's hidden away like this. The same could be said about the nightclub before them, however. It looked drab and lifeless next to the other buildings, and quite easy enough to mistake as just a modest establishment selling ordinary wares. The lack of signage was notable, mainly since the club's owner would purposely have it removed so as not to draw the attention of respectable men and women who are on their way to work.

Ishtar found herself wondering if her temples of old looked just like this as soon as the daybreak found it, when all the worshipers had their fill, and the walls no longer reverberate with cries of ecstasy and prayer.

"This is why I prefer the nights in Bombay," she remarked as she lowered her sunglasses, "Everything seems more mysterious and less generic. The colors, all the more vibrant, the women...almost mythical and intangible to hold."

She said it without so much as preamble that Gaitonde probably wouldn't respond. It wasn't like she expected to keep up with her train of thought anyway. But she nonetheless reached to take his arm, like a blushing bride might have done. What they have may not be a marriage, but the same principle should apply.

"This way, sahib," she stepped towards the doors located to the left near the main entrance. With a pursing of her lips, she inquired, "Maybe I should stop addressing you so formally, no? But you can still call me whatever you want."

Ishtar didn't wait for a response as she exchanged needed pleasantries with the security detail working there. These two burly men recognized Gaitonde, and so she didn't have to say much to persuade entry. As soon as they were granted that, she pulled the old don more tightly by his arm. It took only a matter of seconds before Momo was upon them. 

Her pimp was a well-bred opportunist, a combination of a vulture that knew its way around easy pickings and a snake who'd strike once it sensed imminent danger. Today he beamed like a teacher's pet awaiting rewards. That smile was only matched by the shiny bald of his head. He wore suspenders and cuff links and reeked of a fragrance that would shame the most expensive whore.

"Gaitonde-ji!" he greeted the man beside her. Clearly, he was already informed as to where his favorite girl had been taken, and who was the one who dared do it. "Welcome, welcome! Please, sit here..." he had a special chair polished already and a small table filled with biscuits, sliced fruits, and a pot of chai. 

Without the colorful glamor of the disco lights and the pulsating rhythm of songs, the interior of the club was naked and cold. Ishtar has never stuck around for cleanup during mornings, so this was the first time she has seen it like this. 

"And how are you, my darling?" Momo surprised her with a kiss on her cheek. She shivered inside but managed to put on a small smile.

"You and Ganesh have much to discuss," she added and watched as her casual reference to the infamous Gopalmath butcher by first name made Momo's eyes widen. "If you would excuse me, I have to get a few things from my room here."

"Of course!" her pimp nodded at a guard who then escorted Ishtar. This left Gaitonde in Momo's care for the next few minutes. Or more, depending how well the exchange would go.

₪₪ ⚜

Too often do people mistake comfort and luxury for a fulfilled life. Even Ganesh committed this fallacy himself, once or twice during times his reign was at its peak, and the G-Company was the most sought-after gang in Bombay, if not all of South Asia. This badge of invincibility was very hard-earned and, in order to keep competition on their toes, some myth-making had to be involved. Hence why he still allows the Bogeyman aspect of his persona--the butcher from Gopalmath--to be passed down like an oral tradition of old.

He wondered before, as he did now while on the way back to his beloved city, what other legacy he could leave behind aside from a notorious life of crime and violence. This was why it's not advisable to see his son often; the mere visage of that boy is a living reminder of how much of a failure Ganesh will always be where family was concerned.

It could be said that the men in G-Company were all his brothers and sons, but that brethren was borne from a survival mechanism; they were bonded by their illegal activities and the burden of promise that they should keep each other from receiving a life sentence in jail or brutal deaths. Such loyalty, of course, was paid in blood as as the ultimate sacrifice, and Ganesh was too shrewd to delude himself into thinking that whatever love he inspired from his men didn't also correspond with the fear it invoked tenfold.

These were the lighthearted musings of an old man that he freely entertained today. Ina was beside him on his left here in the jeepney whilst his former imaginary friend Delirium sat on the passenger seat, away from their pair. She was a little out of tune as she sang a song in Marathi that's playing on the radio. He ignored her for a while but when the traffic jam worsened just as they were about to cross the intersection that would lead them to the nightclub, he decided he had enough of her bullshit.

Subtly, he leaned towards the seat and pulled at the loose pigtail from Delirium's tangled mess of hair. Ina would have seen it happen since she can discern the weird girl's presence after all, but not his driver.

The action caused Delirium to jerk her head so she could glare at him. In retaliation, she sang even louder and more out of tune. 

Ganesh was somewhat glad Subhadra didn't birth him a daughter instead. Arms dealing, drug trafficking and assassination schemes would be easier than raising a daughter. But it only made him think about his late wife again, which was the last thing he wanted now that her death anniversary has officially passed. In the last twelve years, he's only ever allowed himself to think about Subhadra during the annual mourning. Other than that, he'd rather not be reminded that he was a widower, and that he abandoned a teenage boy who barely even knows him, save from the stories his caretaker Kanta Bai might share.

A dull ache spread from his head and caved into his chest. He grew up loathing his weakling of a father, and yet it would seem he was the weaker man. At least his father sacrificed his own freedom when he owned up to Ganesh's matricide---

The abrupt jolt of the jeep caused these dark thoughts to spill just as he almost crashed against the leather seat before him.

"What the fuck happened, benchod?" he blurted out before rolling down his window to argue with the car that was impeding their route in the intersection. He almost wanted to pull out his gun to scare them off, but his old age was a time of wisdom in these trying times, it would seem. So, instead, he got out of the jeep and grabbed the maderchod on the other car so he could slam his head a few times on the damn wheel.

He swore that he saw Delirium cheering him on from the corner of his eye as the wild tresses of her hair burst into dozens of small fish, swimming towards his own head to form a bandanna. 

Everything went smoothly after that. He got back inside, the traffic improved, and they at last reached the nightclub. 

Ina looked like a commoner in the clothes he chose for her to wear. It was an extra precaution. Besides, once it's official that she's his mistress, he would have plenty of other occasions in which he could show her off. Her nearness was enough to soothe his agitated nerves from earlier, and the invitation of being referred to in more personal terms did please him too. Subhadra and Cuckoo were the last ones to ever call him by his first name, and with fondness.

The excursion of dealing with her pimp was a necessary evil, and though he knew how to present an aura of neutrality himself during socially uncomfortable circumstances, he was still annoyed that Ina had to leave him with this slimy maderchod. Still, everything is all about formality in the business world, whether you're purchasing a yacht, a crate of semi-automatic weapons or the permanent company of a woman.

"I just have a few questions about Ina," he raised the piping hot chai to blew into it before he would take a sip. "It's about her identification and other papers. I would need you to surrender all of them once you've named your price and I pay. Whatever you want, cash or credit."

He kept his eyes locked with the other man's as he sipped the tea. It burned against the tip of his tongue but the sensation invigorated him.

"Speak if you have any other concerns you need to address before I sign on the dotted line, as the expression goes."

 ︽ ✷✵ ︽

It dawned on Ishtar mere moments later when she reached her quarters that leaving Gaitonde behind with Momo may not be the most compassionate thing to do. Her pimp was the type to scrape off anything from the bottom of a barrel, and the heinous acts he committed for the love of money and the acquisition of better sums drove said man to partner with shady individuals in the last decade. 

She could hardly remember how she even ended up in his hands. All she could recall was that being on the run didn't suit her anymore, so she found permanent lodgings in this nightclub instead. Momo was her best chance to live comfortably because he has access to clients with higher income brackets. He was no pedestrian crook either. 

Like a gambler whose luck never seems to run out, he was able to procure certain long-lasting connections in a few political circles. She wondered briefly if Gaitonde already knew him by reputation alone. The old don didn't seem to be that impressed when they were introduced earlier, but she knew better than to trust his surface-level reactions. 

Gaitonde always kept his cards close to his chest, even when the odds were in his favor.

What a pair of businessmen they would make together then. Ishtar shivered at the thought of them brokering a transaction beyond the purchase of her person. But that might be inevitable, given they can both pull strings from people who are in their pockets.

As for her, she busied herself by packing her belongings. All her best clothes were hung at the farthest back of her closet. They were the gifts from former paramours who all enjoyed dressing her up like a doll. Of course, Ishtar picked the fabrics and the seamstresses and then made the men cover the costs.

She folded them carefully to avoid creases then she went for her jewelry box next. This one wasn't even in her room but in Momo's office. Because he was her favorite, she was granted access through a password only the two of them (and a bodyguard) knew about.

When she walked into said office, Ishtar took in the surroundings one last time. She'd been here twice years ago, back when Momo would send for her during times he wanted to celebrate a deal closed by taking her by his desk. It was a courtesy fuck Ishtar didn't mind; she was getting something from it too.

And that proved very helpful now as she opened the safe where not only her jewelry was kept but also a bag that contained a dozen bundles of two-thousand rupee bills. This was her entire income which Momo didn't mind she had so long as she allowed him to put it in this storage for safekeeping.

He didn't know she opened a bank account as well under a different alias, and that's a secret she's only going to share to Gaitonde. But only when the right time comes and he could be trusted further.

Once everything was settled, Ishtar pulled one large black bag on wheels. All her possessions were in it, sectioned among clothes, accessories, money and shoes. She only owned four pairs, because she learned long ago to downsize in general. It was a lot easier to carry them off at the first sign of emergency.

"Sorry to keep you both waiting," she stopped by Momo first to pat his feet and place the hand she had used on her forehead. A common sign of respect for an elder, one she never did before for her pimp.

And then she strode towards Gaitonde next and sat on his lap. She treated it like it's the most ordinary thing she could do to this old don. It's up to him how he'll choose to react.

 ₪₪ ⚜

The chai and the assortment of biscuits were all good, which was great for Momo, considering that Ganesh Gaitonde was a traditional ganglord when it came to receiveing respectful patronage from lesser men. 

He was less about tradition in other ways though, because the whole point of living in the fringes was the ability to disregard the laws of the land unless he's made them. But chaos should not be governed, only adapted to.

"So," the pimp leaned against his seat with an air of self-importance that would mean nothing if not followed by reputation. "You want her documentation, proof of her citizenship, that sort of thing."

Obviously, dusta. Ghrinita purusha. Ganesh nodded with a smile then took long sips as he watched Momo the entire time. He knew what his type was like. He heard a few tales about this gandu not long ago, though he never would have guessed he's the one who could even own someone like Ina. It seemed to him like Momo might be in the dark as to how truly special that woman is.

He couldn't imagine what it must have been like to live so close to such power and never figuring it. For the old don had assumed Ina has kept herself hidden even from the men who claimed to love and possess her. 

That was his distinction at the moment--he was the first man whom she allowed to witness the destructive force of her hips when she danced. There's a sense of pride to it that Ganesh would like to hold on to.

"She goes by Ina. At least that's what she told me last night."

"Her full name is Emani Inanna Atiyeh," Momo didn't turn as one of his men handed him a brown folder. He held on to it for a while as he spoke. "Born somewhere in Iraq. Nomad by the age of twelve. Her last residence before she came to live here was in Bangladesh, but she's been in and out of India for more than twelve years."

"What do you mean?" Ganesh raised an eyebrow. "She lived in Bombay before she worked for you?"

Momo shook his head. "Don't let her face and body fool you. That woman is close to fifty-something. Thing is, she's had her share of very wealthy patrons abroad whom she swindled to keep her financially afloat. Doctors even. A surgeon or two who did some fabulous work. So yes, everything about her is made-up. Maybe even the circumstances of her birth."

"Is that so?"

"Either that or she's immortal."

The old don chuckled. Momo grinned then handed the folder. Ganesh didn't bother opening it just yet, even after he grapsed it close to his chest.

A pregnant pause ensued afterwards as two men measured each other with unblinking stares.

"You seem too eager to give her away, even though I could tell she's profitable for you. What's the matter?" Ganesh teased, "Are you scared of her mystery?"

And the pimp guffawed. He rubbed a hand over his bald head and said, "All women are mysteries, bhai. The ones who make it count are the ones you can't put a price tag on. And those who really make you earn their secret are the same ones who get you killed."

Ganesh considered that. Which is Emani Atiyeh then, named after the dead goddess Inanna?

"Okay. So how much?"

"Two hundred thousand rupees. Like you said, she's very important commodity, and if I'm letting her go, I need something to match the loss I'm taking."

The old don shrugged his shoulders as a lukewarm agreement. "Preference for the payment?"

"Credit will do. I hope you don't mind if I wait for the transaction to get processed first before she leaves. I'm sure it will only take five minutes if you allow the deposit to happen now, bhai."

"Fine. I don't have upstanding appointments today anyway."

Momo nodded with a renewed smile as he turned to the man waiting on his left side. He was holding a piece of paper.

Seeing this, Ganesh waved at his own man by the doorway. "You can give the details of the account to this one." And then he made that man lean so he can instruct into his ear about which of the G-company's offshore accounts he could wire the money from.

The old don was just about to say something else to Momo when Ina made her appearance at last. As soon as he noticed the singular wheeled suitcase she pulled behind her and gave her an inquiring look, as if to say, 'is that all you're bringing from your old life?'

Ina had the audacity to crowd his space next. Momo seemed like he enjoyed that display while Ganesh was unsure he did. Still, he wrapped an arm around the woman's waist.

"Transaction is still taking place, darling," Momo explained, "Why don't you show our bhai around the area in the meantime? Just don't stray far."

Ganesh wasn't sure what in Krishna's cock could possibly interest him outside, but he stayed quiet. The truth was he wanted to look through her file now. Maybe he could do that while she's present and he could ask her questions about the information.

 ︽ ✷✵ ︽

She may be lounging on the lap of one of Mumbai's most formidable ganglords without a care in the world, but Ishtar still noticed the little things that transpired between the two men so far. 

The discussion about the transaction was of little interest to her, so she was more than happy to take Gaitonde away from further boring talk whilst Momo devotes some time securing the payment he's been promised.

It had not slipped her notice, however, that her new benefactor was holding onto an envelope, which no doubt contained her legal documents; a fabrication of the mortal identity she had worn in the last fifty-something years. She still knew people within the system who could help circumvent the jargon of legality in regards to her official records, so it would be easy enough to pass as a thirty-year old, maybe late thirties, in case that's the next claim she would make.

But she and Gaitonde were way past that crude deception.

"The section of city at this hour might be of some interest for you," she pulled his hand the entire time as she guided him out of the club and back into the streets. There were vendors already scattered by the sidewalks, each with wares they would advertise as unique and endurable.

Ishtar pretended to browse through a few until  a set of tungsten bangles caught her attention. They were painted in gold with assorted beads of green, red and violet variety. "I want these," she told the don, more than expecting he would cater, especially since it's such cheap yet beautiful accessories.

She slyly observed his stance as she waited for what she no doubt would be a series of questions next. The file in his hands no doubt tempted him to examine already. Ishtar wouldn't have minded. There were only a few secrets between herself and Gaitonde, and only one was something she would safeguard.

"How about this ring?" She picked silver band with a turquoise stone, "Don't you think this would look good on someone?"

Of course, she was hinting about his son. Gaitonde tends to wear his gold like the man of excess that he was, so an ornament so simple would be below him. But not for a budding adolescent whom she guessed was nothing like his father. At least for now.

"You know, Ganesh," she addressed him without any modicum of formality once more, "You shouldn't be stingy with your thoughts. If there's something you'd rather we talk about then go ahead and beguile me."

She remembered some details in her documents after Momo questioned her about it years ago. Surely the file contained the same kind of information.

₪₪ ⚜

He stood by the crowded sidewalk not as a man out of his element but one who was used to the clamor and discord of a marketplace at the height of the commodity exchange. That is to say he enjoyed the business happening in the vicinity though not eager to participate unless he has an item in mind to purchase and haggle with.

Ganesh truly didn't look like any ganglord Bollywood had romanticized. He was neither an ugly brute nor a dashing villain in need of fixing and understanding. He was plain, of average built and height and now that he'd middle-aged, his branded clothes and cologne would readily make people assume he's a mogul of some enterprise, close to an early retirement.

Mumbai knew who Ganesh Gaitonde was by reputation, but only those who barter their way across the seedy underbelly of the city can recognize him at first sight. These ordinary vendors do not engage in such deadly trysts, so they had no idea they had the Butcher in their midst. Therefore they were shameless now in trying to dupe him into buying things for ridiculous prices.

"You're lucky I have pocket money to spare," he forced a tight smile as he handed the cash to get her bangles. Afterwards he awarded her with a deadpan stare when she lifted the silver ring for him to appraise. 

"Looks tacky and easily rusted."

But the seller piped up instantly, "Stainless steel with tungsten too! And that turquoise is the real deal, saab!"

Ganesh shook his head. "Not interested."

"How about ruby? Sapphire? Diamond?"

"You can throw in opal and garnet and all the fucking birth stones in the mix, and my answer is the same."

But he found himself sifting through the boxes of gemstones in their silver and gold chains nevertheless until he found a gorgeous pendant with an arrow-shaped ruby. It was small yet distinct, like the mark of someone modest yet aware he was special--even if he would deny it upon askance.

/Yes/, he thought as he paid for that necklace, /My son would definitely wear it/.

His gaze landed back on Ina. "I'd rather we do it somewhere more quiet, but if you insist."

Ganesh nodded at the bodyguard who lingered in their backs and together the three moved to a narrow corner where only a vendor selling different flavored chai was busy attending to orders.

"I heard your full name was Emani Atiyeh." He left out the goddess name on purpose. "And you are Iraqi-borne. What were you doing in Bangladesh though? I know it can't only be basic prostitution. Bangladesh whores don't become Mumbai courtesans easily, especially Arabic immigrants."

There's a process to things even in the criminal underworld. Certain expectations had to met; certain quotas to be filled.

Ganesh then handed the bodyguard with some bills so he can buy them all chai. When the man left, he asked Ina next:

"And are we really the same age, if not older?" He looked almost amused by the thought. "You have to give me the number of your surgeon. I was thinking of getting some work done myself."

 ︽ ✷✵ ︽

Ishtar rolled her eyes at the biased opinion Gaitonde has about prostitution in this double-edged ultra-conservative world of South Asia. He wasn’t entirely wrong, of course, although she couldn’t share his narrow viewpoint. She guessed he probably operated in the perspective of an outsider—that is, on the grounds that he’s a man who had procured women for a price over the years.

“It is a little more nuanced than expected,” she remarked without the urgency to expound. Instead, she fiddled and played with the new bangles around her wrist. 

Unlike her previous behavior during their first meeting that seemed almost like a lifetime ago, Ishtar now didn’t bother with courtesy. No more ‘sahib’ or ‘saab’ this time. And she also met the old don’s eyes without feigning timid flirtation or mimicking a version of submission.

“The experience was humbling,” she added after a short interval as she brushed her fingers through her hair, allowing for the bun to come loose. “Bangladesh was a necessary evil to get to where I am right now. You’re right to assume it wasn’t a walk in the park. More like a sprint. On bare feet. With spikes digging onto the soles with each step.”

She didn’t want to recall the compromises made back in that country, and though she bore each blemish and scar of history, Ishtar felt as if her arrogance would rather display them as testaments to her enduring spirit rather than ugly reminders. Even if this era degraded ‘whores’ as commodities, she would never perceive herself expendable. The trade of flesh nowadays was so unlike the Sumerian rites long ago, but it was still within her sphere of influence.

Sex and power are competitive siblings, intrinsically bound forever.

At Gaitonde’s quip about their sameness in age, Ishtar laughed and tilted her head back just a bit. “Is that so? You think I’m mid-forties? Well, maybe. Who could really say? Perhaps my ‘surgeon’ is a miracle worker.”

She held his gaze next and closed the gap between them. Her hand slithered to his wrist, massaging the pulse. “Or maybe…” she leaned to kiss him once on the lips. “Youthful appearance is just another perk of being an immortal, Ganesh.”

Afterwards she placed the other hand on his shoulder and swayed side to side while she added, “Would the guarantee of Eternal make you worship me, little atheist? Surely you hadn’t made peace with the fact that Death is your master. To me, you’re far more romantic than the average killer. You want to believe, so you chose self-belief. But now that you’ve lost the vigor of boyhood, you aren’t so sure if you yourself are worth that faith.”

Ishtar deepened her gaze at once to meet his inquisitive one. The man was full of contradictions, but one narrative tied all the deceptions together. She could read it perfectly now—the story of his life he’s still wrestling between accepting and denouncing. 

“Here,” she let him go so she could offer an upturned palm instead, “Give me the pendant you just bought. I want to show you something.”

₪₪ ⚜

He may not trust Ina—or Emani Atiyeh, as the records show—but he still liked her far more than he’s willing to disclose. It went beyond fatal attraction; in fact, he wanted more than to just bed her a dozen times from now on. That was not the best way to possess this alluring snake. 

Now, he didn’t feel anything grand for the woman. It’s certainly not in the same league as his passion for Cuckoo or the dutiful devotion he had for Subhadra. This was more intuitive than anything visceral or learned behavior, for Ina opened him up to things that weren’t of this physical world. And for someone who detested the foundations of religion yet still found himself going back to the fiction and myths the same holy teachings have spanned, Ganesh was conflicted.

The playful smirk on that pretty face was testing his patience as well. Her words made sense though not the intent. Was she mocking him just now?

“You’ve said a lot since you stopped hiding what you are,” Ganesh kept his arms on his sides and willed himself not to shiver under the command of her touch. “I know you’re not the type to spew out bullshit, but you do like to tease and cajole for the sake of ruffling feathers. It’s a habit of old women to do something like that, you know.”

And then he grabbed the same hand whose fingers pressed against his vein earlier. He lifted it in sight then made her cup his cheek with the palm.

“I’ve grown past the pretense, Inanna,” he spoke of the name with a hint of anticipation and apprehension; they were, at this point, inseparable feelings when it concerned her. “I know what you are but I understand so little of it. How could have lived past a century? Or maybe even more—”

Ganesh cut himself off when he noticed his bodyguard approaching, carrying the glasses of chai. He ceased touching and standing close to the woman so he could take the glasses and send the other man away to hang back several feet.

Handing her the glass, he watched her through suspicious eyes as he took a sipped from his own. Not even the familiar heat and spice of the drink could wash away the newfound curiosity, a twinge in his chest for something he knew he couldn’t own but wanted to try nevertheless.

“I’ve been many things in this life,” he remarked after a short pause, “But hardly a believer. Foolishness and invincibility of ambition can do that to you. I’ve molded an empire that served my whims and passed on a legacy to hungry boys who will someday make their own mark in Mumbai’s hellscape, but…”

The old don stared at the liquid inside the glass. “But what of my other lives? See, I may not adhere to the religiosity of it all, but I know there is karma and reincarnation. The dharma in which I’ve made choices in has been in a constant flux, and I operated as if I’m locked in this tunnel vision of my own consequence.”

Sighing deeply, Ganesh looked across Ina. He didn’t respond yet to her request about his son’s pendant. Instead, he quipped, “I was not made to be small, but if I had been bigger at one point or several in past lives or new ones—did the weight mean anything at all? Has the hunger subsided, balancing the debts incurred or yet to be acquired?”

Fear of the unknown never used to bother Ganesh Gaitonde, but if he truly was facing a deity of old, then it was only a matter of time before he tried to sift through the contents of his unfettered soul.

 ︽ ✷✵ ︽

With her expression unchanged, Ishtar took a few sips from the chai. She had not realized that she was quite parched until her taste buds were enlivened by the spicy flavor of the hot drink.

Gaitonde's response was not only the most earnest she's ever heard but also the most vulnerable. She can't help but think about that young boy she met back when Delirium took her away to some unspoken dimension of reality. Was that the past? Was it real? Even she couldn't be certain.

"Do you remember what I told you earlier?" Ishtar queried as she held the glass with one hand while the other framed his face once more. "After the heat of lovemaking. Do you remember what I told you about the Endless? About your little friend?"

At the moment there was no sign of Delirium, but Ishtar knew that she lurked, seeping into the gaps inside the man when nothing else makes sense, and he didn't even understand yet the poetry that is invoked when a mortal tangles with an Endless in such a personal level, let alone face-to-face.

"I don't know how to help you, Ganesh, unless you tell me exactly what it is you need answered," the fallen goddess admitted as she let him go to cradle the glass of chai between both hands now. She treated it like it's another object altogether.

Her gaze fell on the liquid inside, as if there are depths within she needed to solve. Forces beyond her immediate control were taking shape, and what are the chances a forgotten pagan deity could even waltz with such forces?

Ishtar thought about Bangladesh. And then she looked further back into Bagdhad where she last saw her ex-lover, one of the many she's had but the hardest to let go.

And now here she was with a new man, whom she's not that inclined to love, but the possibility was nonetheless there, and it left her insides clawing with protest and grief.

Perhaps the millennia has hardened the soft places wherein everything can blossom and burn with passion. Ishtar wondered what Desire could be thinking now and if it dared to even form an opinion.

Another interval or two passed before she commanded this time, "Give me the pendant."

₪₪ ⚜

The frown etched upon the old don's lips testified to his growing impatience, but he knew better by now. Only the most vital and life-changing of circumstances were worth waiting for, and nothing good ever comes when you rush the process of unveiling. 

Truths take many forms, and they often don't reveal themselves when you anticipate nor does it comply to your own convenience. Rather, these fucking things find you unprepared, often ready to gut you from throat to cock.

The change of topic made Ganesh blink. He had already raised the glass to his lips when he stopped midway so he could glance around. No, there's no sign of Del at all. He always seemed to forget she even existed until the last minute. He looked back at Ina now, more confused than ever.

"What about her? I don't know where she's gone off too this time. Now that I know she isn't just an imaginary friend my mind summons when I'm lonely, I don't think I want to see her for a while."

He still can't wrap his head around the concept of the Endless, and that Del is one.

The old don looked at his glass at the same time Ina did, but his was a casual glance and nothing more. It's why he made a face when he noticed that the woman before him was suddenly transfixed with her chai.

However, the tone in which she commanded him with made Ganesh shiver inwardly in spite of himself. At first he didn't look like he wanted to obey but after a few seconds he managed to use his free hand to pull the necklace from one of his trouser pockets.

"Be careful with it."

It wasn't just a trinket. This was the first gift he's bought his son that was not out of necessity. Overcome with paternal affection, perhaps. But it's a good feeling to have every now and then for his last remaining flesh and blood.

Ganesh would press it on the palm of her hand. The annoyance was back though it didn't outweigh the curiosity.

 ︽ ✷✵ ︽

She was quick to notice the tension on his shoulders at the mere mention of their loony friend. She's also observed a few times that although Ganesh Gaitonde did not possess classically handsome features, the deep, warm earthy hue of his eyes remained rather arresting itself.

Underneath the exterior of cool-headed pragmatism and calculating aggression was a man of subtle sentiments made conceivably more existential due to middle age. Ishtar could always see that paradox lurking when his eyes betray him so, as they have at present.

"You chose her as she chose you," she commented without a personal intent behind it. "Mortals never get involved with the Endless in such face-to-face confrontations, although with Delirium, something as rare as that may have become commonplace for her, given the sphere of influence she has."

Wasn't it just earlier this morning when Gaitonde interrogated her about 'Del'? Suddenly he doesn't seem nearly as interested anymore. Or perhaps he has indeed realized that the barely coherent girl was more powerful than he could ever begin to imagine.

"Honestly, Ganesh," she remarked next as she raised the glass with one hand while gesturing with the other, "I seem to recall that you specifically asked me to loosen my lips and spill more secrets. And that it's about Delirium whom you wish to learn more about."

Ishtar raised her eyebrows as soon as Gaitonde at last surrendered the pendant. The tangible curve and weight of the ruby felt all the more real especially when she sensed the importance of this gift.

Love comes in many forms, and all of which the goddess was fluent in. The one he dwelt at the moment caused her to look back at him with sweet sympathy. This type of love often baffled her, mostly because she was not inclined to notice it among mortal folk.

Motherhood was not within her sphere of influence after all. Even though a fertility goddess, Ishtar never bore sons and daughters herself, unlike her other counterparts. Last night, she's expressed her lack of desire to mother anyone, so though her expression was soft, it didn't mean she's suddenly seduced by the prospect of becoming parent. Far from it.

"Look and understand," she told him as she lifted the silver chain and dipped the ruby into the chai. Since it was shaped like an arrow already, the gemstone sank into the liquid like it was always meant to do that.

"Shhh!" She would chastise Gaitonde if he dared to speak. "Look now. Understand later."

Together, they peered into the glass.

₪₪ ⚜

When Ina brought up the discussion that occurred earlier post-sex, what it reminded him first and foremost was the fact that she also expressed a desire to have lunch at the chicken place he brought her to last night. 

Gods unwilling, has it only been last night? It never ceased to amaze how much they have learned about one another in such a short window of time. And yet somehow none of those things were enough.

He had to force himself to pay attention next after that small distraction. Ina still made little sense regarding her spiel about the 'Endless' who turned out to be 'forces' that are neither mortal-made, much less divine. A part of him still couldn't accept gods do exist. 

But here she was.

Ganesh wasn't sure when that revelation just clicked with him. Perhaps it was hearing Momo's theory earlier or seeing some of the information on her file for himself. Or perhaps it was simply how her body felt during lovemaking, though love had nothing to do with it at all.

Whatever it was, he's operating on that...'belief' now. Such an alien word both in theory and practice. But what else can he do but admit this was a reckoning that defied logic?

The old don was almost finished with his chai when he saw what Ina had just done to his son's pendant. A harsh, half-scowling look crossed his featured yet he said nothing.

'Look now. Understand later.'

And to think he even considered introducing his son and heir to Ina tonight during dinner. That plan seemed inadmissible now.

At first, Ganesh cast a glance towards the lone bodyguard, who kept watch of the characters on the streets, just as he had been trained to do. He sighed and leaned slightly to the glass of chai.

"Is dumping the ruby in tea really necessary?" He questioned with a sardonic edge to his tone, "If you want to check it's the real thing, you should maybe use vinegar and not--"
 
Ganesh forgot what retort he wanted to convey within seconds when something in the chai peered back at him. He couldn't have been mistaken, could he?

He wrapped his hand around the glass with a force and pulled it from her own grasp. This singular emblem has caused him debilitating fraught and sickness in the belly. What was that? What did he see just now?

Scrambling to understand, he kept looking and looking until his reflection came up. He knew it was his for he saw those familiar eyes. They scrutinized and passed judgment so easily. They were the eyes of a ruler not fit to don a crown made of thorns and also an unruly little pauper who clawed his way from dirt and amnesia.

There was no mistaking that those were Ganesh Gaitonde's eyes.

But that was not the rest of his face.

"Inanna!" His voice came as a hurried whisper, like he was losing air in his lungs. "Who the fuck is this? Why does it have...why do /I/ have a trunk?"

 ︽ ✷✵ ︽

Her scrunity upon the man's visage sharpened the moment he pulled the glass away until she had to let go. With her lips forming into a thin line next, Ishtar held her silence since she wouldn't have known what to say until she, too, can look at the contents of the liquid.

She cast but a small spell just now, something she could conjure for a moment because of the union they had undergone this morning. However, its been some time since she attempted something as risky as this, especially when mana from mortal men didn't have the same vitality that could sustain such a spell to begin with.

But Ishtar suspected Ganesh Gaitonde truly was no ordinary man. The fact that long before he crossed her path, he first became prey to the clutches of Delirium of the Endless could only mean there's something more distinct about him than just his sanity slipping.

Delirium treated him with a fondness she only saw the Endless give one another, or at least as far as the young Endless expressed affection towards her brother Destruction. The mere comparison of her former love with the Mumbai gangster turned her blood to ice. Ishtar would rather not go there for the road was not built anyway. Certainly not.

At the mention of a 'trunk', the fallen goddess snorted. It was a questioning kind, as if she herself disbelieved the authenticity of his reaction to whatever was reflected back at him. And yet if her speculation bore any fruit, it must be this.

"You are not what you've been told to believe," she uttered in the gentlest of tones, but the unmistakable intent beneath was steel, as if she was a teacher scolding an apprentice, "You claimed you were never made to be small, and it was a feeling that was rooted in your soul, Ganesh." 

She closed her eyes as if the sight of him standing there before her has become too much to bear.

"I've barely sensed it in the beginning, but after what Delirium showed me last night, and when we finally came apart together hours before--" Ishtar gazed at him again, "I'm certain now that you aren't a man but rather the shadow of something else."

For the first time in a long time, the fallen goddess didn't know how else to expound on what she could feel in her bones was the most important truth to reveal. She may have no need to look into the glass either, for the very appearance and presence of the man in front of her further accentuated the startling discovery.

Still, she owed him this truth. For her sake too.

"This would explain a lot of the other things. Such as why I've been so inexplicably drawn to you. You weren't the first man in this continent who would have the money and influence to afford me on the basis of my merit as a kept companion, but you are the first one whom I revealed my true self to."

Ishtar place a hand atop her chest where her heart was as mighty as the beating of a war drum. The street corner they're stuck in became the edge of the world just like that. It was just her and Gaitonde--the little boy who dreamed he was a giant.

"My secrets were well-guarded yet I've decided anyway to give you a key to unlock a few of them. Why else would I do that if you yourself was just mere mortal?"

The last question she posed was a whisper yet it echoed between them like an eerie sound in a cave.

₪₪ ⚜

Moments ago, Ganesh had set aside the file which contained Ina's official records. He didn't hand it to the bodyguard but rather he kept it firmly under his armpit. As if it was just another document he's fine losing before this day would end.

Now the fucking thing seemed like it weighed a few tons, and Ishtar's baffling proclamations out of nowhere concerning his own identity didn't help.

She said so herself that she was the one with secrets. So what is this bullshit spewing out? Maybe his earlier assertion that she was indeed the former goddess of Sumerian repute was false. That has to be it. He created a myth when facts were needed more. 

It was just the fabrication of a mind that broke somewhat because of pressures he never would have foreseen until they had punctured holes already. Ganesh never felt sane or the same since his time in prison. And this was the living proof how far his mind had broken.

The old don wanted to take the file now and slap her face with it. That need was urgent and could not be ignored at first until he gripped the glass hard enough that his fingers went numb. He decided to channel the indescribable rage in such a death grip. 

They were still on the streets, among vendors and the bustling economy of the city. He couldn't just hit a woman unprovoked. Things had been changing in which the female urbanite elite had learned to push back against a system that oppressed them for so long. 

As far as everyone could see, Ganesh and Ina were just talking, acting like a pair of lovers one moment and the next...

"I don't want to hear the rest," he retorted with a dangerous edge to his tone. He couldn't remember the last time he raised his hand on a woman. In fact, he's always been cordial to the women, even accommodating, down to the lowest rung of prostitutes.

He didn't see any reason to be violent with them. None had dared inspire such a strong reaction from him before. Until Ina. Of course it had to be her.

"This is making me angrier than I want to be," he expressed as succinctly as he could before turning away. He snatched the pendant before throwing the glass somewhere. Ganesh didn't even care to hear it break. He was just walking. The bodyguard may have followed too, but he didn't bother glancing over his shoulder.

He just walked aimlessly and bottled down the fury until it was a fire in his gut. For some reason he's perspiring more than usual due to the overall climate of this gandu city. 

Why was he angry though? And did that frighten him so much? Ina didn't sound patronizing at all. It was worse. He felt like there was a gambit he couldn't see, and when finally revealed it could end him.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, he then took the folder from under his armpit. The paper was a little wet on the portion where it was pressed against, but other than that it was okay.

As he trudged into the crowded lane, Ganesh ripped open the seal and took out the documents. He didn't have the energy to read what was inside yet the solidity of paper rustling and being crumpled by his hands offered solace. 

Meanwhile, the pendant dangled around his wrist where it slid after he took it out of the glass earlier.

Ina may be on his heels by now, but he didn't give a fuck either. He needed to be alone. He needed to think. He needed to breathe and clear the toxicity he felt was corrupting his lungs--

"doGGo! doGgo!"

Ganesh shivered.

And then he felt Del's arms around his waist, forcing him to cease walking. She buried her face on his back and said, "IF leaVinG huRts tHe inTesTiNes thEnN bEzt FlY liKE a witcH's mOnkKeY peT."

He understood. He just did. Without turning around he allowed the madness passage once more and replied, "Show me."

His voice shook as he demanded--almost begged. "Gods damn it all, show me!"

 ︽ ✷✵ ︽

Ishtar saw it at once, the flash of fury in those hazel brown eyes. She met his gaze just the same with a fire to match his own. 

It may be his subconscious telling him that there is more than a grain of truth to what she told him, while the rational mind of a mortal man is doing all that it could to deny reality as nothing but another delusion.

She could see it so clearly by now, as it's made more apparent through the man's next words and actions. As soon as Gaitonde walked off, she immediately trailed after him too. She also observed that his steps lacked any purpose except to get away. 

He didn't seem to notice that he's been bumping into other people either.

"Bhai!" She called out then noticed the bodyguard has caught up to the man, trailing only three or four steps behind Gaitonde.

"Ganesh!" She tried again, before a group of women barred her way by accident, and she has to go around them to avoid a scene.

When she found him once more, it's already too late. He's been swallowed by the noisy crowd of commuters and vendors. Ishtar was careful to keep her distance among those she guessed were either pickpocketers or the average pervert. After all, she's a woman walking all by herself in Mumbai, and some men would still find a way to take advantage of that even in an open space.

"Ganesh! Bhai!" She called out again but to no avail. The heat became unbearable for her all of a sudden as the bland clothing she's draped in begins to stick to her skin due to perspiration. But Ishtar's determination was far more overpowering, so she pushed into crowds and reached enough proximity with Gaitonde before she saw the bright orange hair of the young Endless.

The tendrils floated in the air, almost like the hair itself was submerge underwater. The sight of Delirium was a harbinger that she's not sure was needed at the moment. But what could she do against the force of an Endless?

"Ina-ji," a man spoke beside her. When she turned around, she realized it was the bodyguard. Better yet, it was the same man whom she enchanted last night, one who had been more than eager to put his mouth between her thighs.

"Stay close to me," he told her next as he used his bigger body to shield her from the onslaught of people still briskly walking past. She would have thanked him, but Ishtar was far too focused on watching Gaitonde from this short distance.

Why was he just standing there? And--more importantly--what does Delirium plan to do to him? She's almost too afraid to find out.

Still, Ishtar has never allowed anything to intimidate her before, so she seized the bodyguard by the arm and together they walked closer to the old don.

The goddess detected that something was wrong. When it involved the Endless, chances are often left with the random toss of a coin, more so with Delirium. 

₪₪ ⚜

All that Ganesh could recall was that he became entombed in his own body because of the worrying rage pulsating in his gut. And then a pair of warm arms held him by the hips in an almost vice grip. He hadn't squirmed away or did anything else to fight it.

Instead the old don let go and closed his eyes. The surrender was instant, and he's falling again.

Falling

And falling

And falling...

...until he could taste the rain-drenched earth in his lungs, feel the rough and sticky texture of mud that has caked his feeble body, turning his already brown skin much darker.

He was only twelve years old back then, which was seven years before he could earn enough coin to travel to Bombay and make his destiny come true. 

In this dirt-poor shack he called home and prison, young Ganesh didn't feel invisible. He felt like a wounded bird whose wings were stapled shut. His skinny, weathered legs dangled helplessly under him each time the older boys taunted and beat him. 

And they laughed when he tried to fight back. They laughed because they knew his father was a beggar and his mother sold her flesh.

Ganesh was twelve years old when he felt true loathing for the first time. He thought his hatred for his father had been enough, but now he understood that he could also hate his mother no matter how much he loved her just the same.

He remembered running through the soaked fields, remembered making a sharp turn in the mud when a buffalo almost collided against him. And when he reached the shack he immediately found his mother's lover by her side on the bed. Ganesh crept up to the pair and watched with a twisted, snarling mouth as his mother's chest heaved up and down in sleep until she ceased breathing altogether once he dropped the stone to the floor.

It clattered and smeared the surface in blood.

"Enough," another version of him--the middle-aged widower, absentee father and gangster--appeared at the corner of his eye. The young boy looked at him, still angry, and hurled the same stone towards his direction.

Ganesh caught it and then stalked into the room so he could snatch his younger self by the arm and drag him outside where the rain could barely wash away both their sins here and out in the world.

"Randi ka Baccha!" He smashed the rock against the boy's face. With each blow, he cursed the child he had been.

"Gandu! Bhosdiwale! Chutiya! Achuda! Haram Jada!"

The expletives alternated between the two primary languages he grew up with and learned, all while he kept beating the boy's face until it became unrecognizable as a bloody pulp. His voice cracked as tears spilled, mingling with rainwater, blurring his sight in return although it didn't dilute the self-hate.

And Delirium cradled his head whilst he's collapsed on the mud, humming some silly song as her lips made lazy pattern of kisses across his temples and cheeks.

"doGGo noO moRre cRyiNGg."

She reached towards the boy below and grabbed his head. It detached without a sound from the rest of the crumpled body. 

"bAngG baNNg bAanG!"

The head melted in her grasp and in its place a lotus flower bloomed. She went on her knees and scooped something from the petals.

"drInKK. sLLLLLurp!"

She pressed something small and solid between his lips, and he was forced to bite down. When the flavor touched his tongue he realized it was modak. He rose from the ground, pushing his palms against the mud, and began to spit it out. After he rejected the sweetness of the modak, his tongue swelled with so much pain that as soon as he spat for the second time, three tiny black mice dropped from his mouth.

"What is happening to me?" He shouted and tried to find the rock he's bludgeoned his boy-self with. But instead he grabbed onto an object that he couldn't figure out at first. It was only when he blinked away the tears and dirt that he recognized it was a singular tusk.

An elephant's tusk, and it was long and sharp enough to brandish as a weapon. He wanted to stab Delirium with it but instead he drove the tip into the flesh of his sternum. 

He gasped then pushed it deeper. The curve of the tusk seemed to have been made to sink perfectly into the tissue and muscle of his chest. There was no pain; just the pitch-black completeness of a punishment that has been delayed for so long.

 ︽ ✷✵ ︽

Something beyond time definitely took place as she watched in bated breaths while Ganesh Gaitonde stood immobile from afar.

Ishtar's concern was immediately grave, for she knew that the man's exposure to an Endless like Delirium meant she had cultivated seeds of roaring madness in his mind that could never be uprooted. But if what she speculated was true, and he was not an ordinary man, then perhaps he could survive such an onslaught.

However, her worst fears were confirmed when she saw him crumble to the ground. His bodyguard ran forward, though he also had the presence of mind to pull her along so that she didn't get swallowed up by the relentless outpour of the crowd. 

They're in the middle of one of the busiest districts in Mumbai. In a city of opportunitities, everyone was a merchant, thief, vagrant or whore, trying to pretend they mind their own business while keeping an eye on individuals to exploit. Only the clever survive and the unapologetic and ambitious thrive. This is how allure and danger go hand-in-hand for a city like Mumbai which embodies the diversity of India in an almost nightmarish kaleidoscope sense.

Ishtar could hardly see Gaitonde now as the crowds flurried past, and by the time they reached him, there were two vendors standing on either side of the old don. One was an old woman with a slightly curved spine, carrying a basket of fruits, while the other was a young man with weathered dark skin. He was the one asking questions while patting Gaitonde's back.

The bodyguard addressed the two once they're all standing together in a circle around the old don. As for Ishtar, she immediately went to her knees so she could cup Gaitonde's face and lift it towards her. Whatever noise and commotion was happening behind them and all over were irrelevant. 

The hell did Delirium do to her new benefactor? Their relationship was something Ishtar was still trying to understand, and right now it seems like a terrible thing.

She may not have strong fond feelings for the man yet, but who's to say she won't care about him more deeply than she already does out of necessity? Gaitonde was indeed special, and he crossed paths with Ishtar because it was fateful. There was no doubt about it in her mind now. 

Even fallen gods still have this much faith.

"Bhai? Sahib?" She gently kneaded his cheeks as she peered into his unseeing eyes. The earthy warmth in the irises was gone, so she shook him on his shoulders next, "Ganesh? Ganesh?"

One hand lowered to press against the pulse on the side of his neck. His heart rate had slowed down.

Meanwhile, the bodyguard (whose name she still hasn't learned) finished sending away the two bystanders. He reached downward to slip his hands beneath the old don's arms, lifting him up easily given his more impressive bulk than his boss.

"We have to go somewhere, Ina-ji. Let's go back at your club since the other crew are waiting there," he told her, "Hold onto my shirt as tightly as you could, and don't let go for anything."

She didn't need be told twice as she made herself scarce while the pair of them waded through the tempestuous crowds once more. The dutiful man carried most of Ganesh's weight by slinging a sturdy arm around the don while he used his free hand to push through the people.

₪₪ ⚜

In the deepest recesses of his fractured mind, Ganesh was entombed with only Delirium as company. He felt cold all over, fingers and toes experiencing a frostbite he could not even see. But there remained a fire rumbling in his chest, and the burn had made him tear up in spite of his best efforts. Yet what is sorrow but a speck of rain roaring against a greater force?

"doGGo shOuld noTt be a scAredYy caTt."

The old don was still in a kneeling position, one hand wrapped around the tusk that's protruding from his chest. At this point the front of his shirt was soaked in blood, sweat and the aftermath of a storm. He beseeched Del from where she stood, but it would seem the crazy little bitch was everywhere, both near and far, inside and out; this terrible combination of comfort and suffering amidst an otherwise empty place.

When he spoke up, the voice croaked even if he did not wish to falter, "I don't know what you want, why you came to me in the beginning. You gave my past voice and vengeance, but now I'm not sure where to move forward from here."

Del appeared (or maybe she was always there), on her haunches, skinny legs adorned in torn fishnet stockings while she bent down. 

"yOuu leFt meE a notEe anD i feTcheD chiCken nuGgEts foRr yoUu buT youU aTe soUr crEam insTead and pretEnd it is swEEt in youRr lyinGg tonGue. youRr graY matTerR knowSss bettErR. it acCepts No lieSss! Only tRuthiE birDss yoUu denYy deny DENY!"

She looked back at him in humorous sadness as she reached to stroke his cheek, "whYy deNy? BirD as bigG as tHiss yOu muSt set frEe lesT iT outGrows thE caGeE thE saMe waY yoUu diD beINg braHmA. draMa bA-bA. Ba-bA-bHai."

Ganesh shook his head and replied, "This can't be who I am. I should know myself more than anyone. This..." he gave the tusk a little tug which prompted him to groan in blinding pain. He kept his grasp on it more steadily again as he blinked at the Endless. "This has to be madness talking. Nothing more."

And Del stood up, stomping one foot as she declared, "maDnesSs is eVERYTHING yOu dingO baT! yoU haVE leSS frienDdS sAnE tHan youU DO whEn yoUu aRe my doGGo. i knOww yOu beTterR eKhnAtH yoU plAgiarIazinG liTtLe shiT! yOu coPy pAsTa oNLy LiEs and sErVe tHem to guEstS wHo wouLDd soON cARVe yOU anD go sluuurrPPPP!"

"I hate you," he cursed the non-entity, the girl he thought was his only sanctuary. Gnashing his teeth, he grabbed her by the neck and squeezed. "I wish we never met! You know nothing of me!"

"yoU haTe yOurSelf liKe a pAcK oF smOkeS and hyEnas!" she didn't even avoid his grip. Her expression was serious as she locked gazes with him and added, "eYes aRe foR moRe tHan seEing, tHe heArt is leSs fOr nOtT FeelinGg. yOu set tHe biRd frEe nOw so wAtcH it sOar. DonT yOu daRe tHrow peBBles oR yOu will gEt youRzseLf riPpLes yoU caNnoT swiM ouT oF!"

Delirium clasped her hand around the tusk that's embedded in his chest, draping her fingers upon his own as she did. She then pulled out the intrusion with some difficulty since the wet skin and muscle were already glued to the blade. She was literally tearing him apart.

Ganesh yelped in pain that soon became a helpless groan as he released his hold on Delirium's throat.

"SET THE BIRD FREE!"

Ganesh kept screaming as the tusk came out of him for a stretch of an entire minute. Somehow the length doubled, and by the time the last inch of the ivory tip dislodged itself from his chest, he has collapsed on his back. He heard voices in Hindi. He saw Inanna and the hazy collection of strangers walking  past in the market.

He said nothing and felt everything. He saw the truth, and the truth was his prisoner. Rebellion gave way to resignation, and Ganesh unlocked the cage and let this goddamn thing free.

 ︽ ✷✵ ︽

The sun's peak has reached the sky by the time they found their way back to the club. Momo's men were always posted in front as well as Gaitonde's, who were trained to be on the lookout. That's why they sprang into action the second they saw the pair come in carrying the unconscious old don. It was while several arms were placing down Gaitonde on the nearest sofa by the private dance booths that Momo appeared. He instantly looked fraught.

"Was this another attempt on his life?" he asked the bodyguard.

The other man shook his head, "No. It was probably just heat stroke. He needs rest."

Momo didn't look entirely convinced, but he was nonetheless relieved. He glanced at Gaitonde with worry then turned to command his cronies in a low but harsh whisper, "Open the air conditioner in my office now. We will let the don get settled there in the meantime."

Ishtar listened as Momo grabbed the arm of his most trusted henchman to add discreetly: "Let it not be said that I didn't show the expected amount of respect and generosity to Gopalmath's butcher-king. Now hurry up and assist his men!"

It took five minutes for the necessary arrangements to be made, all while Ishtar made herself scarce yet useful. She went to the lavatory to get a basin of cold water and a platic bag filled with ice cubes plus a washcloth. Since she already knew where Momo's office was, she went there by herself just in time to see the three men leave through the doorway. They were all her soon -to-be former boss's cronies. The two posted by the door were of course the old don's own muscle.

"Sahib," she called to the bodyguard from the market, the one whom she enchanted to pleasure her last night. Because of the emergency with Gaitonde, he seemed to have forgotten that indiscretion. But now that things have settled down, and it's just the two of them, she could see a hint of blush creeping on his cheeks.

"Yes, Ina-ji?"

"You never introduced yourself," she smiled at him pleasantly, "What shall I call you? I want Gaitonde to know that you were his rescuer for today."

"It doesn't matter. I was only doing my job, ji." The man rubbed his nape as he struggled to meet her eyes directly. Finally, he answered, "It's Mohan. I am usually the chauffeur, but today I was tasked for guarding duties with the bhai."

The pair of them stood across from each other, with Gaitonde's unconscious body on the sofa between them. Ishtar was relieved to sit in a room with a cooler temperature, all the more so as she sat down and began squeezing water from the washcloth next so she can apply it on the old don's forehead. The man's skin was clammy with sweat and strangely still burning hot. Hopefully some ice would help.

She made conversation the entire time. "How long have you worked for the G-company?"

"Just under five years," Mohan spoke that with an obvious note of pride, as if to say that although he wasn't nearly seasoned yet, he was ever loyal and true. 

She supposed she understood. Mumbai was a cutthroat city that breeds hard men and bad vices almost every week. Fortunate are the resourceful who make the right alignments at the right time, and G-company remains one of the most lucrative criminal enterprises out of a good thirty that's currently operating and recruiting.

"When he wakes up," Ishtar remarked, "We should keep him cool. Maybe it was heatstroke, so we need to summon a physician as soon as get back to the compound."

Mohan only nodded. This prompted her to look up. He said he's only worked for Gaitonde under five years, and yet he's already entrusted with the old don's most well-kept secret. She watched the bodyguard eye Gaitonde for a while. He looked rather contemplative, as if he wanted to ask something.

He eventually spoke his mind when Ishtar got up and left to fetch new water for the basin. The man had stopped her halfway by placing a hand around her elbow, its grip uncertain.

"Will you please..." he glanced around then stared back at her, "...not tell bhai what happened to us last night? I beg of you, Ina-ji."

And she chuckled. Reaching upwards to pat him in the cheek, she quipped. "It would be our little secret, so long aa you promise the same, hmm?"

Mohan blushed and then he pulled out something from out of his back pockets. She blinked at the crumpled envelope smeared with dust and sweat. It contained information about her mortal life. The emergency earlier made her lose track of it. She's relieved it didn't get lost.

"Bhai would want this back soon," he told her, "But you should have it for now, in case he asked."

She sighed through her nose and took the envelope, all while squeezing his hand in reassurance.

₪₪ ⚜

Ganesh was aware of what had been happening around him, although he wasn't in any capacity to be interactive just yet. His pulse began steadily returning to normal as soon as he was carried out of that district, thankful he didn't have to endure the noise pollution anymore. On any other day the commerce of Mumbai was music to his ears, but not this time.

The cursed silence in his mind frightened him, but it was also the only thing Delirium lovingly clothed him with after the evisceration. He loathed her, and yet he also needed her more than the air in his lungs. It was akin to how he often craved whiskey or moonshine during midnight, even though he's long sworn off vices after the publicity campaign of his prudent brahmin lifestyle in the last decade.

His hypocrisy wasn't shocking, if only when other contexts were taken into consideration. He's killed, pillaged, swindled, and corrupted, so if anything, suddenly living by Hinduism was an obvious pandering angle that the public just came to accept because he was, in a way, as entertaining as he was to be feared. 

Ganesh Gaitonde never would have thought he would give holiness a serious shot, until Subhadra's death forced him to reevaluate his philosophy in general.

As he laid there on the soft yet firm cushion inside an air-conditioned room, the old don bit by bit came to an awakening. He knew he could not live the same way again, this fool who masquerades as an atheist who's pretending now he was a believer. He's never been staunchly either, which makes him probably the dreadful agnostic; one who questioned faith the same way he would faithlessness. 

He's the ever-dangling pendulum that would never land on anything for he must sway according to wind and free will only.

Once he was sure Ina and Mohan left the room, he rose from the sofa. There was no struggle in pain and exhaustion. He merely sat up and gazed around the room with a patient stare. Nothing caught his attention, as everything else was comparably measly next to what Delirium uncovered for him. 

His body was still the same, old bones and graying temples, with a few signs of rheumatism in the joints. And yet he felt younger in ways that aren't self-deception at all, and stronger in ways that mattered the most.

Delirium was sitting by the windowsill overlooking the streets outside. Her rainbow-colored hair is now a more vibrant red-orange, the wild curls looking crisp as the sunlight lit them aflame. When she glanced at him, she smiled. He noticed that she wore a pure white sari that was two sizes bigger so the hem covered her feet. A dozen gold, copper, and beaded bracelets adorned her milky wrists, a few of which were too tight that they must be leaving marks.

Ganesh took note that she had runny mascara and lipstick that has been smeared down her chin. The mismatched blue and green eyes weren't smiling at all unlike her lips. She was a harrowing vision of beauty and horror, a conflict as old as the universe. She was the best friend he spilled his secrets to, his almost lover he only fucked in lonely fantasies, and the child back at home he abandoned for glory.

She was his madness.

"Good morning," he greeted her without moving from his position.

"afteRnOOn reSpiTE."

"Evening jealousy."

"twiliGHt anGeLouSSs."

"Ruins of the dusk."

"SUNny-siDe-Up suNdoWnN."

And they laughed together after that.

Ganesh clutched at his chest as he did, the phantom pain from earlier now ebbing away pleasantly. He pressed the pads of his forefinger and middle against the skin beneath the fabric. He knew it was there and also not. The remnants of the ivory tusk were powdered into tiny particles that infiltrated his veins and the capillaries. It was an organic part of him now, more so than the dirty soul he flaunted around in vain.

"I know what I am now," Ganesh whispered to himself and Del, "...but who I am is an ongoing story which had taken several scrolls across a span of decades to merely write a decent prologue for. How I wasted my youth on that when there are more important chapters to draft."

He shook his head as a grim smile played on his lips. "You were patient with me, and so was He. I will toil more meaningfullly from this day forward. I owe my other lives that. I would certainly not become the shard that destroys the rest."

Delirium said nothing. She simply reached down to remove a beaded bangle. The yellow color made it look like a ring of corn. As soon as she handed this to Ganesh, he looked through the center while he lifting the trinket to his eye level.

"I see," he spoke. "So that is my first task, huh? It makes sense. Thank you."

He clapped his hands together and called out for Mohan.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

▬๑⟨※⟩๑▬

Ｌｏｓ Ａｎｇｅｌｅｓ

Lucky chance was sailing along the coast of Canadian waters when one of his boys, Arvind, came forward and asked for Ganesh's permission to marry.

The don had just finished his meditation cycle for the day. He was sitting cross-legged on a mat by the yacht's bow. With this position, one wrong move could make him topple over and possibly drown in the waters awaiting below.

Ganesh was not scared. To him, it might as well be the summary of the last thirty-two years of his life; balancing himself on the knife's edge, one fatal day at a time.

At the moment he was in middle of admiring the horizon and ocean that have melded together before him. From this distance and in a certain angle, it looked as if they were sharing a kiss, all while the sun sets, spilling out orange and pink hues.

It was a scenic view, but Ganesh has never truly appreciated beauty in all its various forms because it made him wary.

All things that are beautiful were always bound to be dangerous.

Arvind lurked behind him, hesitant to approach at first. Once he broached the subject of marriage, the don was unmoved both of body and mind. His palms rested on bent knees as he maintained the same meditative stance.

He anticipated something like this was going to happen eventually. When they last docked on a port before sailing to Canada with America as the final destination, the don had taken in five escorts for his boys; two Malaysian girls and three Indians.

They were all homesick and with these women on board, that hunger was appeased in small doses.

Ganesh warned them to undress only with their clothes and not with their hearts. But Arvind has clearly unraveled so now he wanted to marry one of the Indian girls. Suhasini was her name.

For the most part, Ganesh Gaitonde was a secular don. He didn't mind the mingling of the castes in his G-company. Hindus, Muslims, and Sikhs all have a place so long as they are skilled in the trade and loyal to the don.

"Are you sure you want her, and not because you're afraid that you can't do better?" he questioned Arvind naturally. "I can find you a woman back home, who comes from a more appealing background, someone who even matches your caste."

"No," the boy sounded so certain as he put a hand over his chest, a dramatic gesture of a youth still able to dream, "I feel it right here, bhai. I love Suhasini. We want to be together."

Ganesh smiled. It occurred to him that Arvind planned this for a while. He knew that the don will be on a pensive mood after meditation and therefore more lenient to negotiate with. He was almost proud.

"Tell me her birth details then, and I'll compare that with yours to see compatibility," he said, "And then I'll weigh on a decision."

That decision came three days later, just as they've reached California.

Arvind and Suhasini are to be married by a desi guru they must meet in Los Angeles. Ganesh handled that transaction between other more urgent calls regarding contractual killings.

It was the whole point of this nautical operation after all, not finding love. Ganesh shouldn't even be >  encouraging fraternizing with whores, but he also knew to forbid such a union would paint him as plain cruel, and he always wanted to balance that with few shards of benevolence on exceptional cases.

Perhaps he often spoiled his boys too much, especially the young ones. But to foster true brotherhood among criminals meant you needed not only to act as their boss but their father foremost.

The very foundation of any successful mafia comes from the simplest social unit there ever was; a family. All his men feared Ganesh Gaitonde, but they also loved him--fiercely but with the unspoken condition he should be an even worse monster than the competition.

And so it was in Los Angeles that the G-company arrived to their very last destination, at least for the next two months or so.

There were seven of them, sans the don, ranging from ages twenty to twenty-eight. None of these boys were green behind the ears, however. Initiation to any gang meant collecting body count and drug dealings, and these boys had maimed rivals, bribed cops and sold their way to get into the inner circle.

Ganesh hand-picked each and one of them himself. Arvind was obviously the youngest and already set to live out a domestic commitment alongside his duties to the G-company.

It could work since Ganesh will be there to facilitate the transition. A father always protects his own brood, even though some children can disappoint and make the wrong choices.

Besides, time can only tell if this match with Suhasini is a mistake. If it is, Ganesh already has a backup plan in case things go awry. Kill switches are inherent in any functional system, and the don has taught himself strategy; to always be three steps ahead with any adversary.

Hence this trip to America, land of opportunities. He has three clients already. The first one he would meet before the wedding can take place. For now he took his boys to stay at a modest hotel in LA. Anything above three-star accommodations would be too suspicious. It was best to stay anonymous while in the Western world.

It didn't mean that they couldn't indulge on fine cuisine and even finer women though.

"We would have them delivered to your very rooms, Gaitonde-ji," the man who made these arrangements called him on the first evening.

"But for you--you get something extra special; a starlet who needs more cash to support her budding career in Hollywood."

"Has she been in any of the motion pictures yet?" Not that it mattered. Any white woman will do for Ganesh, just to get it over with.

"She had small roles here and there. In any case, she's very pretty and flexible. You will like her."

The don struck a match to lit the incense. He had reserved a suite for himself and two rooms divided among the boys. Alone again, he sat cross-legged by the mat, facing an open large window with a balcony.

"Fine. Finalize the meeting. Talk to me again tomorrow," he spoke all of this now in a heavily-accented English. He was getting better stringing sentences with the foreign language at least.

After he hung up, Ganesh closed his eyes to prepare for the afternoon's session. He imagined himself in a desert, surrounded by sand, overwhelmed by the heat. His throat was parched. He was sweating bullets. And then, suddenly, an oasis appeared. He willed his fatigued body to crawl towards it. Upon reaching the haven, he collapsed; just another tiny organism in an otherwise vast universe of chaos and strife.

But Ganesh Gaitonde knew even in hopelessness that he was not made to be small for long.

Last time he checked, the city of LA was all the way on the West Coast, while Eagle Point was right in the Midwest of the United States.

Eagle Point is where he should be right now, preparing for his wife's funeral after three years in prison. And this sentence alone could fill a whole book when unravelled.

LA is where he is now, trying to steer the Buick he rented from Sixt through the crowded streets, looking for a hotel he could afford with the little money he had left in his pockets.

The journey back home had been an Odyssey from the beginning, with his flight ticket invalid, his replacement flight gotten redirected into the middle of nowhere for reasons that were way beyond him, and his rented car broken down and only to be repaired in a licensed garage - according to the woman with the friendly but also very annoyed voice on the phone of the Sixt hotline - and that licensed garage of course being way off his route to Eagle Point. 

And still. the fact that he is now in sunny California, makes no sense to him, no matter how many times he rubs his eyes and shakes his head. It is as if the car had taken on a will of its own.

A suspicion nurtured when the Buick shows an empty fuel tank right in front of a hotel that doesn't exactly look like golden faucets, but also way too expensive for an ex-convict with a sleepy head and a rumbling stomach.

"Fuck it." Shadow mumbles when he gets his duffle bag from the passenger's seat and makes his way to the reception. He is way too tired to drive further, and if he spends more money on fuel now, he will most likely have to sleep under a bridge.

So he accepts his fate and asks the young man behind the counter for the cheapest single room. It turns out one is available, and retrieving the key card, Shadow makes his way to the elevator.

The funeral is tomorrow at noon. Until then he will have to find a way to get home to his dead wife. 

American television didn't interest Ganesh as much as he thought. He's been surfing through the channels, barely stopping long enough to absorb what was being broadcasted. After what seemed like an hour, he's finally settled on a program:  "I Love Lucy".

It wasn't even in color, but he liked that quality since it brought to mind the old Hollywood films he's seen and learned English from. At first Ganesh sat through an episode for fifteen minutes, but once he understood the story and dialogue well enough, he disengaged.

Afterwards, he allowed the show to play in the background whilst he browsed through his phone contacts so he can make the necessary calls regarding certain shipments and the schedules everyone needs to keep if this operation ever hopes to succeed.

The devil is in the details, so to speak, and while the boys rested, Ganesh decided to take the bulk of the responsibility when it came to setting up the accounts. Well, at least for now. There will be work for Arvind and the others tomorrow, even with a wedding coming up.

The don was so absorbed alternating between speaking to clients and eating what passes for a vegetarian meal in this place that he didn't notice that the sun was setting outside.

He's sitting on the sofa, facing the television. As his eyelids droop, he could have sworn that the woman in the show, Lucy, was staring right at him through the camera.

Wait, was she speaking to him in Hindi? Hmm, he's probably just tired.

'Why don't you rest?' Lucy spoke in clear English, as she addressed some other character in the show. She had to be.

Ganesh closed his eyes, giving in to the call of sleep. In the darkness, he could still hear her:

'Welcome to the land of dreams, Vighneshvara..."

↢❂↣

Suhasini was allowed to stay in the hotel since she had the special distinction of being the future bride of one of the men in the G-company.

She had been leaning on a balcony facing the parking lot, watching the men and women who would come in and out. Nobody stood out, not really. When she got tired waiting for nothing, she decided to head back to the quarters the don paid for.

It wasn't exactly a suite, but the room was far more comfortable and clean than all the rooms she's ever been fucked in. Suhasini wished she could be with Arvind right now. Everything about this new place made her feel small, but not in a way she usually liked.

She barely spoke the language too, so when a trio of men barricaded her way while she was heading back to her quarters, Suhasini couldn't even try to negotiate her way out of it.

The suites were on another floor upstairs, and the only way to get there is by using the elevator next to the balcony she had been in earlier. Panicked, she turned around from the men and ran the second she saw wiggle room.

Just as she was close to safety and the elevator opened, the three men were suddenly upon her and one of them tried to put his hand on her mouth. Only five foot-two, she was a child among these taller foreigners.

She could only beseech anyone who was inside that elevator with a frightened look and a muffled shout.

Shadow's eyes had already closed once inside the elevator, his weary body leaning against the cool wall and his duffle bag almost dropping to the floor when he is drawn to the land of sleep.

So when the confined space comes to a halt and the doors open, he can't tell for a second if it's dream or reality (this seems to be a theme for him now since he has left prison).

A tiny woman he mistakes for a child for a second, with her skin dark, yet not as dark as his, is gazing at him with big eyes, while three men almost as tall as him surround her, one pressing a hand against the woman's mouth.

It's his reflexes that make him react, his protectiveness over anyone who seems to need help, and bared of his promise to himself to keep a low profile and not get into trouble. Trouble is a bad thing for an ex-convict, and he isn't going back there. At least not before he has showed his respect to his dead wife. After that however, he has the feeling there's nothing much left to keep him beyond bars.

Laura is far from his sleepy mind though, and before he can remember her, his fist goes out to punch the man holding tight of the woman at the side of the throat, then turning a little to get in an uppercut to one of the two other men.

That's as far as he gets, when the third surprises him with a one-two punch to his stomach, making him double over.

If he's lucky, it's still enough for the woman to escape. 

Suhasini used her small height to her advantage and timed her escape from the men's clutches as soon as the stranger from the elevator interfered.

Relieved to be running away from the assailants, the woman was almost tempted to go straight to her lover. But she's a smart one, who understood how power among men works.

That stranger was now the one in danger, and she will show her gratitude in the only way she knew would get the situation handled.

Suhasini gripped her sari in one hand and banged against the don's door with the other. "Bhai! Bhai! Please help me!"

Everyone back in Mumbai had told her the stories; stories about a priest's son from some village who, in just a decade or so, built his empire among the garbage dumps in Kailashpada where the bodies of his enemies were burned to a crisp.

He will know what to do.

↢❂↣

Ganesh was quick to get up once he heard the noise. In his semi-drowsy state, his eyes fell upon the TV, as if expecting someone to be there, just waiting. He shed that foolish thought away and opened the door.

The would-be bride didn't explain much and merely grabbed his arm to lead him to the hallway.

He knew she was not an excitable kind, even for a whore. Soon enough they were rushing together. Ganesh slowed down once he understood what had happened. It wasn't difficult to figure out.

"Should I fetch Arvind and--"

"No."

Instead, he took her hand. His grip was firm, confident, as he led her towards the ongoing brawl. Ganesh's demeanor suddenly changed as he greeted the men with a single phrase in English

"How much will you pay?"

Suhasini trembled beside him but his hand moved to cup her back, pushing her forward.

"Bad business to take merchandise without pay."

Ganesh stepped right between one of the assailants and the stranger who intervened. He was just a few inches taller than Suhasini herself, slender in built and clothed in a yellow kurta. He had his back against the stranger, almost acting like a shield.

"Come, come. No more punching. I have girls. Food. Also drugs. I'll pay."

Still cheerful, he started patting the men's backs, chuckling, like they were all old friends. None tried to lay a hand on him though. Like they couldn't even fathom.

"Here. Walk here. Go on. That's it. Yes! Yes, thank you. Take them to my suite, please, Suhasini."

Almost meekly, all three men followed. The expressions on their faces were a mixture of shock and fear. Why are they obeying this short brown man?

Suhasini walked ahead with the men behind her. They formed a line, like school boys with their teacher on a field trip. None spoke. Like they couldn't even try.

"Hi," Ganesh addressed the stranger then noticed his bag inside the elevator. He slipped in to carry the duffel bag.

"I take this for you. You go. Go!"

He swatted the man like shooing another unruly boy until also fell in line like the others.

Ganesh swung the duffel bag over his shoulder and waved at a maid who was pushing a trolley as she passed by the group. The maid sensed something was off but merely shook her head and went ahead.

Maybe Shadow could have gotten some more punches in, but instead he is just lying on the floor, covering his head with one arm, and his family jewels with the other, letting the men beat him up like a piece of meat. He had seen that the woman has escaped, and that was all that mattered.

He knows that type, after a while they will get bored and let go of him.

So he is surprised to hear a jovial voice after quite a while, a voice that is getting to him as well for some reason. There's no more punching and kicks, as the men suddenly turn into a herd of lambs, obeying the short man that has entered the stage like a deus ex machina.

Shadow gets up from the floor, wiping the blood off his mouth with the back of his hand, then follows the man as if he is pulled along.

However, in the distance he can still see the sari of the woman, and the men behind her, and he really doesn't like it.

"They will not hurt her, will they?" he asks, hating the idea that the woman will have to serve the men that had threatened her before.

Shadow had heard the offer the short man had made to the attackers. Women, food and drugs. He's not keen on the drugs, nor does he need women. But his stomach is rumbling at the mention of food. 

Ganesh walked beside the black man at the end of the line. The pair of them looked out of place, in any given situation. Neither exuded elegance and class in how they carried themselves, nor did they put up airs or reeked entitlement.

They were both just there; two strangers who might as well part ways right now. But instead they're heading to the same direction, towards something shared they just don't know yet.

The don had to tilt his chin to look at the other man. He smelled of old leather and coffee beans. There was a wedding band on the man's finger that looked somewhat new but also not.

Instead of responding to the query, Ganesh patted his back. That was all the assurance he was going to get.

Ahead of them, Suhasini opened the door. The three goons went in. She stopped Ganesh on his way, asking, still in Hindi, "Should I fetch for your men now, bhai?"

He squeezed her shoulder. It made her quiver as her eyes watered next. Suhasini wiped them and then looked at the stranger who saved her.

She reached upward to graze a few fingers over his bruises. Afterwards she went to the bathroom while the other men stood around, awaiting instructions.

"Shoes," Ganesh said and they all took off theirs and neatly cast them aside. He turned to the black man, "Food?"

And then he pointed to the mini fridge.

Suhasini came back with a towel inside a basin. She made the stranger sit down. The rest followed as Ganesh gestured for them to do the same.

The don then lit the incense. Its aroma spread instantly on the closed space of the suite. Ganesh picked up the remote control. Before he turned it off, the theme of I Love Lucy started playing.

Lucy looked at them from the screen and blew a kiss. And then she's gone.

"So," the don turned to the men, "Tell me your names. You first, the one who helped the girl here."

It's hard to say what made him more uncomfortable. Having to take his shoes off - his feet weren't exactly the most fresh after that long travel. Seeing the woman kneel before him to help him freshen up, maybe clean his wounds. Which would have been a nice gesture, hadn't she been the one who had gotten attacked by three men in this very room. The incense that made his head dizzy, with the fact that he was way beyond his sleep time didn't really help with the thinking clearly.  Or the fact that he thought that Lucy had just blown him a kiss from the screen. He definitely was past his bed time.

So what the short man asked of him was easy compared to anything else.

"Shadow. Name's Shadow Moon." he says laconically, then turns his head to look at the man beside him. As if they were in a circle in kindergarten, about to introduce themselves to the other kids. Also hoping the inquiry was done with that. 

He didn't even immediately join the group on the floor and instead walked towards the fridge to take out the food he's ordered a while ago. It was just an assortment of leftover vegetables; brussel sprouts, squash, string beans and cauliflower, all honey-glazed and still fresh.

There's a small pot of rice by the sink. He had it brought from the yacht.

Ganesh carried the plate of vegetables and a bowl of rice towards his guests. Meanwhile, Suhasini is in the middle of washing her rescuer's wounds and trying to apply some sort of ointment, possibly homemade and one she uses for herself.

"Shadow Moon," the old capo tried the name once, liking the way the syllables blended. He sat on the floor, facing the men, and carefully laid out the food between.

"Like a hero from a book," he gestured for Suhasini, who by then has come back from the bathroom with fresh water on the basin. She walked to Ganesh, and he reached to dip and clean his hands inside the basin.

Afterwards, he laid a chard leaf on the tray, put a serving of rice and vegetable on it, before rolling it closed. The heat of the rice made the rest of the ingredients stick to it including the chard.

"Why did you go to prison, Shadow Moon?" He lifted the wrapped food and motioned the black man to lean close and open his mouth.

One time Shadow flinches when the woman touches a wound on his face with a cloth. He tries not to show his pain though, not in the face of her. There is something about her that seems so vulnerable, so in need of protection. But then again, that’s always what he feels towards women.

He quickly turns his head when he realizes that he has been staring after her as she walked to the bathroom again. It is very inappropriate to stare after a woman, and this setting even more. 

When he gains his focus again, he is surprised be seeing something edible held out to him, and like an obedient child he opens his mouth to let wrapped rice put onto his tongue.

Why is it that the way he feels around this man? Like he wants to do things right, to not give him reason to scold him?

But then the question makes him cough, and he has to breathe through his nose not to spit out the food in surprise. Which would probably a really bad insult, as they seem to be all about hospitality. Well, apart from the beating he took, of course.

“Prison?” he asks, his skin getting darker from both the coughing and embarrassment. “Why do you...how?”

That’s all he can say as he tries to gain back his breath and chew down the food he was given. 

"How does anyone know anything?"

Ganesh paused, dark eyes meeting the other man's as a bemused look filled them.

"Observation, sahib," he shook his head from side to side lightly. The old capo could have always used the right English honorific, but he didn't feel like it at the moment.

He rolled another leaf with rice and vegetable filling, all while he spoke, "But you didn't kill. Not yet or ever. I know the look in men when they have killed. So, maybe you went to prison because you stole. Are you a thief, sahib?"

Feeding Shadow again, he barely glanced at the other three men who were all watching this interaction unfold. Their expressions are saddled between annoyance and fear, one flickering over the other quickly without staying in one state for long.

"But that is not the answer to my question," Ganesh paused to say something in Hindi to Suhasini, and she left their side to attend to something in the pantry.

"The crime is nothing," he went on, staring intently at Shadow as he enunciated his words with the odd cadence of someone who knew the language well enough to speak it, but pronounced the words however he wished. "It feels to me that you have a keeper. Someone close? Yes, close enough that you went behind bars for..."

He inhaled as he spotted the ring on Shadow's finger. When he exhaled, he broke into a knowing smile, "...woman. Wife. Ah, you're a romantic, sahib. Like in movies, here and in India. We--how you say--want men like you to win? Tough, handsome, and with a woman to save."

Ganesh had finished wrapping a few more rolls of food. He gestured for Shadow to eat by himself now.

Just then, the fragrant smell of boiling chai wafted from Suhasini's spot and mingled with the incense.

"Can I see your wallets?" He asked the other Americans now who volunteered their possessions readily to the old capo. Ganesh pronounced their names, then their addresses, contact numbers, all aloud. The men trembled for a reason they weren't sure of.

"How's the food?" He smiled at Shadow, like he's a waiter, hoping for a good review, "We will have tea soon. Then you will help me. Okay?"

Nothing the man says now seems to make any sense. Asking for his crime, and then for Laura, and then the others for their wallets. The moment the man speaks out those names, something in the room changes, as if a binding of sort had happened. Or a threatening. And Shadow is not sure if with that man, those two are even different things.

He finds himself wishing for the woman to come back again. Not in a romantic, or lusty sense, but just because her presence gives a warm touch among all these men. Soothing.

After letting himself be fed, he looks down at the food on the plate, wondering if he should eat at all. Or if maybe the hostility shown by this man comes with strings. However, those thoughts and possible precautions come too late anyway, as he’s already accepted the food given.

„Help you with what?“ he asks, only able to single out this one thing from his jumpy train of thoughts. „If you need some help, I can do that. But tomorrow at noon I need to be back home, with my wife.“

He’s not sure why he doesn’t disclose that it’s actually a funeral. But then again, why should he disclose it to this stranger?

Shadow feels like owing the man something, and even though his eyelids are growing heavy, and every bone in his body aches for a bed, he is prepared to do some minor chore for the man that saved and fed him. 

Ganesh glanced to where Suhasini was. He watched the curve of her back where her long braided hair rested. The steam of the fresh pot of chai was fragrant and sensual, and it almost gave her a mystique as she stood next to it.

The old don fully comprehended what lays ahead for this woman once she becomes embedded into the G-company as a spouse to one of the more promising recruits.

As soon as Arvind makes captain years from now if not soon, his life will be in more constant turmoil and hers and the children she will rear will get caught up in it too.

The winds of fate are fickle after all, even if the gods themselves maintain they have a grand design.

"If she loves you," Ganesh remarked, almost absentmindedly, "...she will wait."

He then snapped his head back at Shadow, blinking a few times as if his own words surprised him.

The truth was he often didn't know how he could read people the way he could, and why his mouth was quick to utter words before his mind could even process them.

A shy smile crossed his lips.

"I dont want to keep you," he tried to explain, "But your country is a mystery to me, so I need someone to drive me and my boys for a while. And you have something these men don't have..."

Ganesh gestured at the three who looked back and forth at Shadow and the don in unison.

"You are kind, sahib," he stated, "Kind like you had never been hurt or disappointed by life before. And so tall. Tough. But never misusing that strength, not against the weak."

He rose to his feet next. Even though he's standing over Shadow, the man still didn't look intimidating nor older. Just unassuming presence in emperor's clothing. 

But only perhaps because he wanted others to never believe otherwise so he can take them by surprise.

"I will pay," he handed the men their wallets as if on cue. They stood up and, without another word, just left. Ganesh didn't comment about the departure either.

"How do you say? Pay 'handsomely'. That's the term, I think."

Suhasini was already pouring Shadow a glass of chai before doing the same for the don.

"You may stay here or go back to your room. For sleep."

 Ganesh handed Shadow his bag, "But I hope you say 'yes' to my request. Yes? You will say 'yes', yes?"

He bobbed his head from side to side, almost playfully and smiled.

"Drink chai then rest. Sleep is luxury, no? In a world of chaos."

Oh wait she will, that much Shadow is sure of. Where else would Laura go but to her grave, now that she is dead? It is not that the dead stand up from their coffins and walk around, at least not in his world.

Dead. Laura is dead. A thought Shadow has not yet dared to explore fully, in fear of just coming apart at the seams if he would. He can't imagine a life without Laura, as if she had defined him.

But he's getting snapped out of his thoughts, when Ganesh is standing above him, giving him some definitions of his own to describe Shadow. He knows he is tall, and his muscles might give away the tough. So that had not been a hard guess by the man who had saved him. But the other things he said....this is not how Shadow sees himself. He does not grasp the meaning of half the phrases Ganesh is using, but Shadow knows that Laura would laugh at that.

"You are my puppy, Shadow, that is what you are. Now come to bed, will you?" he hears Laura's voice in his head, in her always half bored, half annoyed tone.

Ganesh wants an answer, and from the urgency of his voice, there is only one right answer he would accept. And how could Shadow deny him that, after what the man had done for him. Shadow has a car, and he needs money. And driving around a couple of guys in the morning seemed like much less a chore than most he has done before prison.

"Yes I will." is all he says, when the scent of the tea is getting to his head. Along with the scent of the woman pouring it. A weird feeling is taking hold of him when he sips the warm liquid, and for some reason he knows that tonight strange dreams will come to him.

"I thank you for the hospitality, and I thank you for letting me go back to my room and sleep. I will be ready at the first break of dawn." 

Pleased of the response he expected to be given in the first place, Ganesh turned around to reach for the remote.

"Finish the chai then you may go, Shadow Moon."

The old don turned on the television without another word, and he flipped through the channels for a while before something flashy and musical caught his eye.

He has seen this performance once or twice back in Mumbai when he had subscribed to a cable network to feature foreign channels. The name left his lips without even realizing it as he uttered, "Ziggy Stardust."

Ganesh turned to Shadow and Suhasini who were sitting next to each other, savoring the freshly brewed chai.

"Do you like music, sahib?" He asked his guest just as the three other Americans came back to the room. They fell in line as they approached Ganesh. In each of their hands were crisp hundred-dollar bills.

"Music is the real language of gods. That is, if they did exist beyond what we imagine them to be."

He collected the money, counting in his head, all while he addressed Shadow, "Are you a god-fearing man?"

Afterwards, he gave five hundred bucks to Suhasini who stared at them for a while before bowing her head in humble thanks. She rolled the bills and tucked them on her cleavage inside the sari.

"My mother used to say that every woman is a goddess," Ganesh remarked as the three men now turned to face Shadow and Suhasini. One by one they touched a hand to their foreheads and then gently placed the same hand on Suhasini's foot, bowing as they did.

She blinked in shock then looked at the old don nervously. That gesture of respect is reserved only for those in higher castes, and certainly not for a woman like her who had sold herself as a whore.

Besides, these are foreigners! They couldn't have known such a custom.

Back on the television screen, David Bowie started dancing on stage, abandoning the microphone for awhile. He turned his back from the audience and then glanced over his shoulder, eyeing the camera rather intensely.

Ganesh didn't seem to notice it since he wasn't looking.

"There's a full moon tonight," he declared to no one in the room.

｢...and the shadows will  rise, flirting with forces they cannot hope to survive｣ Bowie added, seemingly in response to what the old don said.

Suhasini turned to Shadow. In heavily accented English, she whispered, "Trust Ganesh Gaitonde. But don't believe him always."

Just when he had hoped of being off the hook for now, the confusion starts all over again. The herbs of the chai find his nose and make him dizzy again, while the sound of the musical performance on TV gets slowly distorted. As is the reactions of the woman beside him to the actions of the three men. As if she were not worthy, neither of the money nor of the touch. Shadow however, could not imagine the woman being worth anything less than all the riches and respect in the world. She served without questions, she filled the room with warmth, and in no moment does she seem to know of her soothing aura. Otherworldly, is what comes to his mind.

Ganesh is talking about music, and about gods, as if both were connected, and he nods in return. Not even knowing to which question he nodded. Probably the music, as his faith in the gods had been shattered a long time ago, when he had been nothing but an adolescent boy.

“There is no journey. We are arriving and departing all at the same time.” Shadow hears himself saying, and he can’t fathom where these words come from. However, the David Bowie on the screen turns his head again, giving this over-the-shoulder look and winks at him. This can’t be true, it must be the tiredness taking hold of him, hallucinating.

“Tomorrow belongs to those who can hear it coming.” he adds, then looks duped at both Ganesh and the woman. Feeling as if someone else is laying words in his mouth. And on the screen, Bowie gives him a nod of approval.

Under all these sensations, Shadow is swaying a little, and he rushes to empty his cup, hoping that this will grant him permission to retreat before he falls asleep right on the spot.

“I trust...trust you.” he concludes, as kind of an answer to what the woman just told him in whispered tones. And then he feels his eyelids just closing on their own. 

The man answered Ganesh with a dignified certainty that for a moment he ceased to be the uncomfortable Shadow Moon he was introduced with earlier. This small change made the old don drop his smile, and so did a few degrees of temperature around the room.

With the incense still burning in a corner, the glacial disturbance stuck out. Fortunately, it didn't last long. Ganesh kept watching Shadow like a vulture next, seemingly disinterested but very much waiting for that last shoe to drop.

Suhasini, meanwhile, was quick to lay a hand behind said man's head as soon as she noticed him passing out. She looked around for a while until she spotted a nearby pillow, using that to cushion Shadow's head as she slowly help him lie fully on the couch.

"I haven't given you a gift yet, for the wedding days from now," Ganesh spoke in Hindi once more, "These men--they tried to have their way with you. Perhaps..."

He made the three scroundrels in question turn to face him, like well-trained dogs.

"...we can arrange a lucrative bargain instead. They're from good homes. Educated. Earning keep for their families. And yet when they saw you, all of that didn't matter. They had to have you. Maybe you should take from them instead."

"Bhai," Suhasini clenched a fistful of her sari with one hand while the other rested upon Shadow's knee as if she sought strength from his body even when he's hardly conscious.

"I don't want any more of their money, or their lives. I just want Arvind. I want a good, clean life with him. At last, after all the pain."

Ganesh wasn't even looking at her as he eyed each man before him. Two of them had tear-stained cheeks while the other one looked so at peace, too meek.

He waited for another second, weighing on his decision. And then with a click of his tongue, he let them go completely. Once the hold disappeared, the men scrambled out of the room, shoving each other as they tried to get to the door first.

"What of him?" Suhasini looked at Shadow on the couch.

"He will reap his reward and join us, at least when he ceased to be of use."

"He is a good man," Suhasini sounded firm, almost forceful and hinting at something, which made the old don laugh.

"Relax, I will send him away respectfully once it is done. How about this? As my present, I give you my word he will be unharmed. Now go, and let your dashing black hero rest."

Ganesh would leave himself too, but not before lighting another incense. When he's gone, the channel would change and a movie Easter Parade would accompany Shadow until the new day comes.

These days it's gotten hard for Shadow to distinct dreams from reality. 

Behind his closed eyes he can see a fire burning, eating its way through a shadowed landscape. But where the fire should be destructive, it felt cleansing. The flames reflected in his dark eyes, getting mesmerized more by the second. He can see his own hand reaching out as if it didn't belong to him, trying to touch the fire. The dream figure of Shadow can't reach it though, only able to watch the sparks dancing. Slowly the sparks changed, from a firey red to an innocent white. And then they weren't sparks at all, but a shower of petals. Petals of spring flowers he can't name, but seen before. And the landscape gets bathed into the soft light of the spring sun.

He tries to catch one of the petals, and that's when his eyes open. Shadow realises he has his arm stretched out, as if really trying to get hold of something.

It takes a few moments for Shadow to realise he is lying on the floor of the room he had dinner the night before with that man, while his head is propped on a cushion. And somehow he knows that it had been that woman bedding him there so carefully.

Blinking a couple of times he sits up, noticing the smell, and the distorted noises coming from the TV that is still on.

He blushes from the thought that he had just fallen asleep right before his company. Should he leave now and pretend this never happened? Or wait for someone to return for him. The man had spoken of a job, and indeed he could use the money to fuel up his tank again.

The old don slept lightly, if at all. He was in the terrace of his suite, lounging on a couch where the dawn's first light had awoken him. He stirred moments before his guest back inside did the same, but took his time settling into the new day. There's always something about the sunrise that humbles Ganesh, a reminder that he still lived when he could have as easily perished instead.

He stretched his arms and legs before assuming a few poses that would circulate the flow of energy better among his limbs. It took ten minutes, but pretty soon he felt much refreshed and ready to tackle the appointments he made for this week.

A contract to fulfill, a wedding to sponsor, and a new client whose identity remains an enigma--Ganesh was all about business right now, and what pleasures America promises can wait later.

"Rise if you have not risen, Shadow-sahib," he glided back into view, glancing once at the man whom he presumed enjoyed his slumber on the expensive couch. He approached to pick up the incense burner on a corner. It was a ceramic, cone-shaped material that could hold six sticks at its stop.

"Buy food, maybe room service," he handed that thing now to Shadow without any kind of explanation. All he said afterwards was, "Bag. Shower. Change. Car. Take all--"

He pointed at the set of keys by the counter in the kitchen. It had only three keys, one for the car and the other two that were not specified. There were four fifty-dollar bills underneath the keys.

Ganesh walked into the living room, looked around as if assessing something, before saying, "This is your space now. Take good care."

He then raised two fingers on his right hand and a closed the others into a circle using the other, "Twenty minutes. See you, parking lot."

And then he stepped into another room. Ganesh might explain on the way or he might not. His English was very limited, while his actions hold more meaning.

Shadow is letting all of Ganesh’ speech and instructions wash over him. Little of it makes sense, especially when he looks down on the incense burner that resides in his hand now. He knows though that he won’t need twenty minutes, as he doesn’t feel hungry at all. Maybe it’s the meal he’s eaten last night - or better said, has received from the hand of his new employer - but he’s feeling so full as if he wouldn’t need to eat for days to come.

A shower though seems like a good idea, and a fresh set of clothes out of his bag. And while the hot water is running over his body and his spirit slowly awakens, he can’t help but think about what Ganesh said about the space being his now. If he meant the room, then the man is quite mistaken. One driving job for Ganesh, and then he’ll be on his way to see Laura. His knees get a little weak remembering that she’s dead, but still even wild horses couldn’t keep him away from her.

Freshly dressed, he picks up the keys and money. If he were another man, he would have taken the money and just vanished. Surely two hundred bucks would be enough in fuel to get back to Laura. But he’s Shadow Moon, an honest man, despite having spent the last months in prison.

His bag shouldered, the money pocketed, and playing with the different keys in his hand as he would play with his coins, he is arriving at the parking lot, exactly twelve minutes later. 

He dialed the secure line as soon as he has sent Shadow away. The conversation was banal in itself, in spite of the guarded secrecy. However, the old don knew this was a just misleading prologue to what will eventually be a dangerous engagement, but the risks will be worth it, if this new client proves to be as lucrative of an endeavor as they had been posturing themselves as.

Americans often exaggerate, relying on surface power to bolster their importance, but cheap tactics of intimidation only work on less seasoned crime lords, and for the bhai of Gopalmath in Mumbai, they don't even skim the depths of his appetites.

It takes Ganesh fifteen minutes to get ready. Since the yacht, he's only ever worn plain beige robes and sandals. But today he put on something more flashy; crisp red long-sleeved shirt crawling with thorny black roses and yellow stripes, paired with dark slacks and leather shoes that make him a few more inches taller.

He walked towards Shadow now with the gait of someone who's too used blending into crowds and being overlooked--and has therefore taken advantage of such invisibility to rise above ranks. No one thinks you can seize power if they don't even find any inch of you threatening at face value.

"Where is the..." he makes motions with his hands to indicate the incense burner, citing, "Very important. Never lose."

Afterwards he climbs on the backseat and waits for his chauffeur of the day to get behind the wheel. He doesn't seem as if he was in any rush, while he recites the itinerary in the same heavily accented tone that treated the English language as a song more than a way to simply communicate a message.

"I'm going to pick up girl from an escort service in Hollywood," he tells Shadow, as he hands him a black card with the contact and address of the agency, "Find for me."

The old don leans back on the leather seat and puts on his sunglasses, "Then from there, I will make other arrangements for wedding. The woman you've met last night. Suhasini. Su-ha-si-ni..."

He then makes Shadow repeat her name, for posterity's sake, "She will become wife to one of my boys. They will marry here. Do you like weddings? Yours was a happy, love marriage, yes?"

There's a beat before he adds, "You can call her. If you worry. Tell her you will return soon, but not now."

Ganesh then took out his phone and handed it over to the man. By then, he's also expected Shadow to be driving out of the parking lot and getting them to the address printed on the card.

It seemed clear he wanted his chauffeur to not simply obey instructions but to have initiative of his own to accommodate his employer.

Ex-cons always knew their way around places after all, something Ganesh was banking on when he hired Shadow Moon.

A brief pat to his bag is meant to ensure Ganesh that the incense burner is still with him. Even though he has no idea why is ordered to carry it around, as what else does it do than give a room a nice scent?

His eyes fall on the card with a nod, knowing better than to question why his new employer wants to hire a girl from an escort service. With the powers this man seems to hold over others, it should be a thing of ease for him to find a woman to accompany him freely.

Hearing that the woman that he had been so nice and grateful towards him - Su-ha-si-ni is her name as he now knows - is getting married soon gives him a weird feeling in his chest. He can’t place it, surely it’s not that he’s fallen for her, as all his thoughts still linger on Laura. But there was something about her, both strong and vulnerable, that had moved his heart. Besides, he doubts that she will have the life she deserves in a marriage that seems to be arranged more than anything else. But it’s not his business, he’s just the driver.

Looking at the phone for a second, he then hands it back to Ganesh.

“My wife is dead.” he says bruskly, “so it would be a miracle if she would answer my call. The funeral is today, and I’ll not miss it.”

There, he said it. The demands he makes in this weird business arrangement. With no further word he pulls out of the parking lot and onto the road. 

With his sunglasses on, it didn't look as if his expression has changed after hearing that his chaffeur's wife had passed. His eyes behind them might tell a different story, however.

Ganesh didn't say a word for five whole minutes which should allow Shadow some time to navigate the car and observe their surroundings. He then perched his arms on top of the leather seat and looked out into the window to watch the row of buildings and trees pass by.

When he spoke, he only said, "Dead wives have a special way to haunt you."

He paused in heavy silence before he removed himself from leaning against his seat so he can come closer instead to Shadow.

Lifting his right hand to show him the back of it, he wiggled the fingers slightly and called attention to the ornaments. He had a large golden ring on his pointer, engraved with what looked like a hibiscus flower at the center.

But the one he wanted Shadow to notice was the ornament on his ring finger. It was a spessartite garnet, the orange hue a perfect blend with the other gold ring it was placed in.

"My also dead wife gave this to me," he said nonchalantly, "She was the niece of my cook. My enemies killed the bride that was arranged for me on the day of ceremony, so I askes for her instead."

He kept staring at that gemstone, adding, "She said no, /no/, 'for why would I marry a gods-hater and killer?' And I told her she was the only one who ever said no to me. Nobody had before. 'That is why,' I said, 'I must have you'."

Ganesh shook his head with a solemn smile, "She was smart, knew how my mind worked, so she said she will agree to be the wife to a gangster on three conditions."

He closed that hand and lifted his fingers as he counted, "One, that her nine brothers and sisters will be supported in schooling, two, I don't prevent her from going outside the city limits for worship and festivals, and three, that any children we would have will be free to choose a life outside crime."

The old don paused to lean back on his seat again. There's a wistful edge to his tone.

"In the end, it seemed to me, Shadow sahib, that I was the one who could not say no."

He looked off to a distance, towards the horizon where the sun was blinding.

"Is that what love is?" A shrug, "I would have known if she didn't die five years later. Or maybe it was after then when I knew."

Ganesh clicked his tongue and--without missing a beat--proclaimed, "You won't miss your dead wife's funeral. I will see to it."

There was an implication there that was ominous, and it hung in the air for a few more minutes, especially when the old don just left the conversation open-ended like that.

Shadow is both trying to keep his eyes on the road and to take in his employer’s hand. He hadn’t noticed the night before how heavily ornamented and decorated he was, which was kinda odd, given that he had been fed by the man’s very hand.

When the hand sinks again, and the don starts talking, Shadow is risking a glance at his face every now and again. The man was nothing short of an enigma to him. And yet, there is something in his eyes and voice that he recognizes as clearly as it were his own emotions. The pain over a love lost, over being thrown back into the world as a single being, like a bouncing ball, like a loose petal.

Something about Ganesh had already touched Shadow the night before - at least it must be so, otherwise he wouldn’t have stayed freely for so long - but now he feels like a connection is being formed. Not one at eye height, of course, but what do hierarchies matter in questions of the heart anyway?

“Has she ever come back to you? In your dreams, I mean?”

Shadow is adding the last bit quickly, when he realizes that the first question, if asked literally, would be very strange. Of course a dead wife can’t physically come back to you.

“What did she die of?”

He can just hope that she hasn’t fallen victim to a crime related murder. 

The shades still functioned as a buffer to cultivate an expression devoid of anything truly sentimental. He knew his voice might have hinted he wasn't as stoic as he wanted to project, but he also trusted that Shadow Moon would not take advantage of this small display of vulnerability.

If not for the money he's being paid with, then for the sake of common decency at least. He seemed to have more reserves of such kindness, when Ganesh himself often rationed his.

"I dream of a lot of things, Shadow-saab," he remarked, "I dreamed of places like this. Do you like it here?"

He stared at the busy streets and the palm trees outside. Everything about California struck him as fragrant, like sweet-smelling promises of security, unlike the cities in his homeland.

"I don't like dreaming about my dead wife," he added with a flick of his wrist, as if he's physically dismissing the very notion. It wasn't callous though.

"Gunshot wound to the stomach before she was trampled," he explained plainly, "Chaos everywhere. It took us a while to find where she was under the pile of bodies."

The old don took something out from his breast pocket and glanced at it.

"Life is funny that way. No...life is a maderchod. Hmmm, how you say..."

Ganesh grinned humorlessly, "Motherfucker," as he emphasized the F-syllable, "Yes, life is like that. And when you marry into death, you go to bed knowing it's right next to you every night."

He leaned towards the driver seat again.

"For you," he showed Shadow a piece of gold coin this time. The design was an unusual one: a disembodied arm was holding a flower. Meanwhile, another arm has its hand raised and that palm burst out with what looked like flowing water.

"Lakshmi," Ganesh uttered, referencing to the coin.

Once Shadow would take it from him, the old don would slink back to his leather seat.

The other side of the coin is the same design with the two disembodied arms; one hand held a flower again while the other hand has the palm gesturing downwards.

"How did your Laura die?"

Ganesh utered that name like he's spoken it before. He has not.

And then the old don turned his head towards the other window to his right, "You can find the address in the card, can't you?"

He took off his shades and narrowed his gaze at the English signage.

Life is a maderchod indeed, even though the word feels foreign even in Shadow’s head. But he has the feeling it means even more than motherfucker. Something more profound, something that doesn’t let you escape, sometimes not even into death.

It becomes clear from the way Ganesh behaves that this is the end of spilling his own memories of the past, and Shadow doesn’t inquire further.

His eyes squint when the sun hits the golden coin he is being presented. He’s never heard the word Lakshmi before, but the name still resonates with him. It is something divine, divine and still foreign, but in his core it feels like a cord gets swinging when thinking about her.

He takes the coin, and as the road just goes straight ahead right now, he can keep one hand off the wheel. Instead he uses it to flip the coin between his fingers and over his knuckles. Over and under, time and again, as if in trance. And it calms him in ways he hasn’t known before, which is the only explanation why he starts talking about Laura.

“They haven’t told me exactly how she died, something about a car accident. I was allowed to leave prison early because of this tragedy.”

His voice gets a little slurry, while he’s staring out the window, the coin still playing in his hand.

“I just wanted to get back to her, have a drink, fuck my wife, and then go to sleep with her in my own bed. Now all that’s left is being able to get a drink.” 

As he listened to his chaffeur talk about his wife, he muttered, "Laura Moon," under his breath. He decided he liked the phonetic resonance, much like 'Shadow' too. ｢Names have power｣, his father had said, ｢and that is why you are Ganesh｣

"It's okay to drink," he responded, "You can have one anytime you want. Can you hold your alcohol well when you drive?"

He's had inebriated men drive him around before, but he remembered that this country might have stricter rules when it comes to that sort of thing.

"Think of it this way," he added after some time has passed, "You will witness cycle of ending and beginning in a few weeks. Go to funeral first, bury wife. Then come back, celebrate nuptials. Suhasini wanted you. My gift to her."

He wondered if the man would find that a questionable arrangement. So with a shrug of his shoulders, he amended the statement with: "She wants an American friend. A married woman in our culture normally won't be friends with a man who isn't her husband's friend first, but this is America. Rules are different. No?"

Ganesh watched the way Shadow played with the Lakshmi coin. Since the man did not ask about it, he assumed he knew, or perhaps did not care either way.

"You wil come back to me, I think. What will you do after wife is gone anyway? Labor...toil...what is the word? 'Idle'?"

The old don took a small yellow notepad, turning the pages until he found the one he's looking for.

"Maybe 'drift away' is the word I want to say," he looked at Shadow through the rear view mirror, "Is that what you will do? Drift away?"

Ganesh turned his head to the left and smiled when he realized they were getting close. A billboard of a woman in a white dress, being blown by the wind so that the fabric billowed, had caught his attention. Marilyn Monroe--an idol herself, and Hollywood is her temple.

"Turn left," he told Shadow, "My whore awaits."

Shadow has learned not to ask questions. In the prison he has learned it, and it seems to him that ever since he came out, this would be an even wiser rule to go with. Questions lead to answers, and many of them can be answers you don’t want to hear. Like the why of how Laura had died. A car accident, they had said, and something in his guts tells him that’s not the whole story. Probably the whole story has the potential to hurt him and taint his picture of his wife, so why ask? Oblivion is a bless.

He is shaking his head as an answer, but only to the first question. Shadow might be able to hold his liquor while driving, but he will not risk it. He is getting paid for this job, and it’s only decent to give his best, even if his best consists of one hand at the wheel and two eyes on the road.

The other hand is still busy letting the coin dance, and as he does, he feels his thoughts drifting away more. Maybe not in the way Ganesh had used that word, plucked from a dictionary, but as if being sucked into another world that only exists in his mind. For a brief moment an image of a pair of flaming, animalistic eyes flickers up in his mind, and that’s when he finally puts down the coin, still not asking about it.

“Suhasini wants me?”

It’s technically not a question, just a repetition of what Ganesh had said.

“As a friend?”

Still not a question. For a moment he can see pictures of his naked body intertwined with the fragile beautiful woman that had been so kind to him, but the image itself makes him feel guilty. Both towards Laura, and towards Suhasini.

“I thank you for the invitation. Maybe you are right, and celebrating with you would save me from...drifting away. But I do not know what would be appropriate as a wedding gift.”

Suddenly he becomes aware of the bundle of bills he has tucked away, coming from Ganesh as payment for his job. He will have to spend this money for a wedding present.

When Ganesh orders him to, he turns the car to come to halt at the destination. Wondering if he is supposed to wait in the car while his employer is amusing himself with the prostitute. 

He sensed something in the other man's silence that felt almost perfunctory. A habit he picked up from prison, perhaps? But this Shadow Moon didn't look like he was the type to turn meek against any adversity. So, maybe he's learned to be quiet out of caution, primarily out of survival instinct than submission.

The old don gets it. Besides, one's silence makes others reveal who they are through what they say more than they would ever realize.

"Yes, she wants a friend," Ganesh reaffirmed with the thinnest of smiles, "The one luxury whores can't afford. But that was an old life. When she becomes Arvind's wife, she won't have to feed herself by spreading her legs."

There was no judgment in his tone since he was merely stating facts about Suhasini. Everyone who's attending the nuptials know about it already. Might as well include Shadow.

He had kept his eyes fixed on the billboard when the other man pulled the brakes. It sent him almost colliding against the backrest of the passenger seat, since the sudden stop caught him off guard.

"Chutiya!" He scolded Shadow once, but it wasn't out of anger, just annoyance, before he climbed out of the vehicle to straighten out himself.

Ganesh then knocked on Shadow's window.

"Come," he told him, "I need translator. These people talk fast. I also need your body. I meant...what was it again?" A pause, as he fiddled with his rings. "Muscle. Yes, I need your muscle."

He expected to be made fun of every time he stepped into foreign soil. So many Westerners have low opinions of anyone who isn't polished lily-white like them. But Ganesh loved it; he welcomed the mockery.

It meant they'd underestimate him, which ultimately gives him the upper hand in any negotiation or confrontation.

Once Shadow got out of the car, the old don would remove his sunglasses and reach up to put in on the other man's face instead.

"Formidable!" He grinned as he appraised his new bodyguard's look. One of these days, he might even consider Shadow a prized fighter, but maybe only after he's been broken in.

And he will be.

The pair of them now stalk off to a large studio building, one of the many indistinguishable ones here, in what was known as the Sunset Boulevard.

Shadow had rather waited in the car than being the muscles for a man who is seeking out pleasures with a whore. Not that he judges that, at least he is trying not to, but that means he might get glimpses of things he shouldn’t. He still feels like being a married man, even though technically he’s a widower now. But even seeing another woman in an inappropriate way would feel like cheating to him.

At least the establishment Ganesh has chosen is not one of the sort that makes you likely to come out with a disease. It looks more like a hotel or fancy club than anything else, and it’s easy for him to catch glimpses of the scenery behind the dark glasses.

He is always one step behind his employer, and inadvertently he feels himself straightening up and widening his chest to look more like the bodyguard Ganesh had him made out to be.

Surely he is to wait in front of the door once his employer has chosen his woman for the next hours, and if he was lucky the walls would be thick enough to let him be privy to the sounds that surely would come from inside.

All the while he is acting as a protective shadow to Ganesh, he can’t stop thinking about Suhasini. In another world, in another time, he’d have been glad to be the one to make a respectable woman out of her.

And thus in thoughts he misses his cue to act as a translator when Ganesh needs him, and he is blushing all over his dark cheeks when the man looks at him expectantly. 

Ganesh had no prior expectations before he entered the building. After all, a part of him already knew that it was a respectable establishment, for isn't professionalism the one thing separated an escort service from common streetwalking?

A western kind shouldn't be any different from what he's used to back at home, save perhaps the price range. It didn't matter either way because of the ongoing arrangement he had with this man who handpicked the companion Ganesh would be taking with him today.

At first, the pair of them strolled through a long empty hallway with bare walls painted red. At the end of that was a room the old don assumed was the receiving area. There were plain sofas to sit on, even a rack of magazines. Everything about the room seemed pedestrian.

They didn't have to wait that long before a door opened and a woman stepped out. She was tall, made even more so with the heels she had on. Ganesh watched her in open curiosity. Was she wearing a wig? He's never seen blonde hair as white as hers.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," the English flowed out of her, much like the paper-thin pink silk she's dressed in, "Are you here for the twelve noon appointment? I was told to meet with..."

She glanced at a card she was holding with her manicured hand, "...a Ganesh Gaitonde?"

The woman accented the syllables slightly wrong, but it made the old don smile nonetheless.

Her eyes regarded Shadow this time. She flashed him her pearly white teeth and said, "Thank you for coming. We are very pleased to have you and we hope that we can make a regular out of you yet."

Was Ganesh mistaken, or did she think the man behind him was the boss? Was it because of the imposing figure, the dashing looks? Are black and brown men so interchangeable in America?

It would have been so easy to make her pay homage to the right man; language barrier won't mean a thing if Ganesh summoned his charisma and infiltrate her mind.

But that would have been cliché. What was it called again? A deux ex machina.

And so the old don turned to Shadow and looked up, as he took on the gait and demeanor of a lesser man, citing, "Yes, this is Mr. Gaitonde. Shall we, sir?"

Still smiling, the woman gestured once for them to follow her through the door she came from.

"Phoebe has been waiting for you since yesterday, Mr. Gaitonde. I think you will be very pleased with her. A rare beauty and talent, our Phoebe."

Ganesh squeezed his bodyguard's arm amicably before patting it and saying, "Don't worry. This will be fine. Walk ahead and don't talk."

Shadow had expected his boss to get angry and shout when the woman made this mistake. What kind of man would like his bodyguard be mistaken for him? And so he not even flinched, fully expecting the mistake to be uncovered soon, and the woman to come out of it a bit the wiser.

But no. Again Shadow feels like a puppet again, getting addressed by Ganesh and then led into the other room. The room with the whore. His muscles tense and he wants to protest, but his boss bids him to be quiet.

He will not touch Phoebe. Shadow has never paid a woman for sex and he never will. It's not that he doesn't respect women that chose this line of work, but he just couldn't. Porn he might have watched once or twice in his life,but that's the extent of it.

"Don't."

That's the only word he hisses to Ganesh despite his orders to not speak.

He was still holding onto Shadow's arm, as if they were just father and son or something of that harmless combination, when he heard the other uttered a single syllable.

It's not even a full sentence, is it? 'Don't what?'

Ganesh didn't say anything in response just yet until the pair of them entered a room that suited the old don's tastes more. The decor was still simple yet there's an understated sophistication about it and a whiff of privilege.

There's a black leather sofa in the middle where a gorgeous woman sat. She's not white, which he had specified, but by now he's quick to ignore it. Her beauty was that astounding. Dark-haired and eyed but not Asian, maybe Easter European.

Ganesh could hardly tell if it that was the case for the latter. She was dressed modestly; a pale blue, form-fitting dress without straps, paired with plain white indoor slippers. No jewelry or make-up, save for some sort of gloss on those lips. Her skin was like caramel, and just as smooth.

"Okay," he turned towards Shadow and asked, "What did you mean? You said 'don't'. But don't what?"

The woman Phoebe watched them conversed for half a minute before she opened her mouth to say:

"I didn't think you would have company. Is this your muscle man?"

She was directly addressing Ganesh. Clearly she was smarter than the receptionist.

Phoebe extended a hand towards Shadow, "Charmed, I'm sure. What's your name?"

Afterwards she spoke to Ganesh again, "I was told you are a business man looking to pay patronage to American cinema. I know I'm supposed to be here for the..." She paused, like she's trying to settle for a more delicate term, yet ended up saying, "...fucking."

Phoebe almost smiled too, like it's a private joke and they're all old friends.

"But would you like to see some of my work later? I am looking for representation, and he told me you might be open to that too."

She nodded at Shadow, "He can watch. I'd like another opinion." And then she smiled at him, and it was solemn, wise...sad.

"I really am an actress. I hope you understand that 'prostitute' is just my kind of waitressing to pay the bills."

Ganesh nodded, "Understood." Another pause.

And then he smiled too. "Shall we get to fucking first? Then movies?"

Phoebe's smile widened. "By all means."

And then they both looked at Shadow. The woman added, "There's free coffee in the lounge."

It’s a good thing his skin is so dark, as it softens the imagery of him having blushed beyond comprehension. Most of it is embarrassment, part is humiliation, and a small part is some kind of arousal by the sight of these two beautiful women in a room, ready to quench every thirst a man that comes here might have.

For a second Shadow is tempted to agree to watching, as he is quite interested in the movies himself, and has never seen an actress audition. But then he realizes that the actress/prostitute could have meant watching her fuck Ganesh, and his desires are even farther from it than his skin temperature is from turning back to normal.

“Coffee sounds great.” he mumbles, giving neither the women nor his new boss another look before stumbling out of the room as if chased by the devil.

Only when he is outside does he care again to draw a deep breath, and he’s making his way to the lounge.

There he sits down heavily on a chair, and then checks his watch. How long will it take Ganesh to have a fuck and an audition? He should have brought something to read, and the magazines on the table are only the kind to get men in the mood. Shadow doesn’t want to be in the mood, all he wants is to leave this place and never think back on it.

So he leans back in his chair and closes his eyes. Even one of his weird dreams would be better now than knowing he’s in a brothel, surrounded by sex.

He noted Shadow's discomfort with a wry smile of resignation. Did the man believe he was being offered sex too? Ganesh was still in a generous mood, so he would feel inclined to impart his bodyguard with the same pleasures of the flesh he himself was about to partake in.

And yet something about Shadow's demeanor suggested that he'd rather wait and sulk by the reception area. Fine by Ganesh. He didn't need an audience, not unless it's someone who wants to volunteer and turn it into a threesome.

"Darling," he referred to the man in question fifteen minutes later, "You should relax. This is a house of hospitable women. Welcome. Welcome home."

He spread his arms to his sides, with the expression of an exuberant child than that of a hardened man.

The old don had shed off his shirt and pants and was now dressed in a thick burgundy robe. His built was so slight, which can be seen on his slender wrists and calves, that if it wasn't for his wealth, he could be dismissed as a pauper.

"Let's go," he patted Shadow on the knee, "We will watch her movie. Don't worry. Nothing like you think. She said it's wholesome. Art film. Nudity very..." He thought of the word, "...is it tasty or tasteful? Ah, English, so many rules, but you don't say enough. Things that have meaning, you don't have right words for."

Phoebe was also in a robe herself. She stared and smiled at Shadow, beckoning him back into the room he had been so eager to leave earlier.

"His wife passed away, that's why he's like this."

"I'm sorry," she sounded at peace about everything, "But the nature of people is to die. Don't grieve too long. Or you will never leave again."

Ganesh quirked an eyebrow. Did she just mispronounce 'live'? Maybe he misheard.

Phoebe made the men sit on a fluffy couch, roomy enough to keep them distant from one another.

The woman clicked a remote and something opened, revealing a large plasma screen in a section of the wall.

"This is a story," she said, "About a lost love in a time of war. I played a devoted wife to a man who went to prison. I promised to wait for him."

Before them the scenes play out just as she explained them. Phoebe in a suburban wife's dress, kissing a man who was not her husband. Her character looked to the camera as a flicker of sorrow with boredom came over her face.

"But I obviously lied."

Ganesh hummed and said, "I think I know this story."

Shadow had been constantly checking his watch, and it seemed an eternity for him until he heard his boss’ voice again. For a blissful second he thought Ganesh was done, and they could go...wherever his boss wanted to go. But then he sees the man dressed in a robe that almost seems to weigh his tiny figure down.

Checking the watch again, Shadow narrows his eyes. Did Ganesh have a fuck in fifteen minutes? Oh. Well. He should not care, and he’d do anything but get close enough to the man to smell if he’s been with a woman or not.

Slumped down with the realization that he’s not yet to leave the sex parlour, Shadow walks after Ganesh into the room with the big screen. At least everyone’s body parts were dressed now.

Falling heavily into a seat, Shadow tries to concentrate on the movie shown to him. Phoebe looks beautiful, and very different to the woman draped over the couch next to him.

His concentration is so strained, that Shadow needs a moment to realize the plot of this movie. But when he does, he forgets to blink.
Phoebe looks nothing like Laura, but here, on this screen, in this room, he sees his dead wife starring in a movie. Kissing a man while he, Shadow, is in prison. Not just any man, but his best friend Robbie. No. No! This cannot be. Not his Laura, she’d never cheat on her puppy.

Tears are streaming down Shadow’s face as he’s becoming unable to distinguish fiction from reality.

Not Laura. 

Like he said, Ganesh knew the story, but only because infidelity is universal, and he supposed even more particularly provocative when a woman commits it. He grew up in a country of social castes and with their own unique set of gender biases. He tried to be above them, though the subject of prejudices was unavoidable altogether.

That's what the old don contemplated about as he watched the film unfold. He was unaware that his bodyguard was experiencing something more personal beside him.

He looked at Phoebe every now and then to gauge her own expression. Has she screened this project to other potential investors before? Most likely. Is she highly sought-after? He didn't really care.

Ganesh liked her spirit; there was a hunger to her he identified with and, in this world, to be hungry is a privilege which the sheltered and loved often take for granted. It's adversity, not comfort, that propels you to succeed.

It was somewhere near the third act of the film--right after a phone call between the cheating woman and her imprisoned spouse while her lover was still abed, enjoying the aftermath of a quick fuck--that Ganesh finally glanced over at Shadow.

"What's wrong?" He inquired. The movie wasn't bad. Story can be more inventive, true, but the technical side was polished, and Phoebe absolutely shines in an otherwise pedestrian role.

The old don shrugged off his bodyguard's behavior and turned his attention back to the film. He could feel it's almost ending. The woman and her lover were arguing in the car. It was raining. Roads were slippery. The ending of an affair.

The parting gift of a fellatio did surprise Ganesh. A lot of Bollywood films shy away from outright sex scenes unless it's a arthouse project, so he barely saw skin--just the awkward euphemism of consummation.

"Wow," he uttered and almost elbowed Shadow as if he wasn't sure the other man was still watching at this point. "Don't you think that it's--"

He got cut off once the lover on the screen failed to swivel the car away from an oncoming vehicle ahead. Woman was still sucking his cock when the fatal turn happened. Ganesh winced involuntarily when he figured out the most terrifying part of the story yet.

The old don sat more upright and closed his own thighs together in reactionary response to it.

There was a panning shot across the woman's body as soon as it landed on the wet grass. Her mouth was agape as she choked on her own blood. A close-up of her eyes. Suddenly it wasn't Phoebe anymore. A white girl. Hazel green eyes.

Ganesh kept staring into them and at the screen even after the credits rolled. A pregnant silence went on for a minute or so as he remained glued to his seat.

Afterwards, he said aloud, "It's not finished. No, the story couldn't end there. Where is the redemption?"

He looked across Shadow. "Don't you agree that they deserve better?"

To Phoebe again, "Who wrote the screenplay? I will have words."

'I think I will do a better job writing it than them,' he thought to himself, 'Starting now.'

There is no sound heard from Shadow apart from a light sobbing and sniffling he can’t control. He doesn’t hear Ganesh’s words nor feel his touch. In fact, the room around him doesn’t exist anymore. He is witnessing the act of his wife being unfaithful to him, as if watching a documentary. Nothing in him doubts anymore that this is Laura - has been Laura - and he is watching her last days on this planet.

The phone call. The audience cannot hear the husband talking in prison on the other end of the line, but Shadow knows exactly what he has said, and he remembers every word that Laura has been saying, and that the Laura on the screen is now repeating. What he didn’t know is that Robbie had been in the background, listening in. Lying naked in bed - /their/ bed - undoubtedly with Laura’s scent still all over him.

The car. Laura’s head bending down as she has done with Shadow before, in the first weeks of their relationship, and then never again after, as couples tend to forget the quick thrills when they’re settled with each other. The swerving, the crash. Laura lying on the street, her lips still parted, her eyes getting blank. Robbie’s cock somewhere out of sight, thankfully.

“It is the end.” he finally says, toneless, not having realized that Ganesh’s word have registered with him after all. “There is no redemption. It’s life, and it sucks. There’s never redemption, just a heart stopped beating and a cock bitten off.”

He can’t even yell, and he can’t cry anymore, so the last tears are starting to dry on his face.

“You should invest in this movie, boss, you won’t find anything that’s closer to the shitload of a life people are experiencing out there.”

He’s saying the words, but frankly he doesn’t care. It’s not that if Ganesh re-wrote the script, that it would change anything in the outcome of this story. It’s not how life works.

“Laura.” he finally reveals to the room who hadn’t been privy to his experience while watching. “My sweet Laura.”

The old don's feet didn't even touch the floor as he sat there on the reclining sofa. They dangled and swung back and forth slightly as his agitation became apparent. He was still so offended with the abhorrent denouement of the plot whereas Shadow succumbed to despair, something Ganesh didn't press on just yet.

Phoebe, on the other hand, stood behind next to the projector. She hasn't bothered turning off the entire thing so the staccato noises from the film reeling around the wheel filled the quiet intervals between their exchange.

"The movie," she reasoned with an amused inflection in her accent, "...is sublime in the way it crafted the ending. That's why I gravitated towards it in the first place. If it left you unsettled, then that only means it resonated in your soul."

"What?" Ganesh gestured harshly with his left hand, "What is that? Re-so-nay-ted?" He syllabicated for effect.

To his surprise, Phoebe turned to the nearby wall and started writing प्रतिध्वनि

"Pratidhwani, Gaitonde bhai," she faced the two men with a wry smile then tapped the marker on her palm once, like she's suddenly a school teacher in front of a class.

He shook his head and stood to walk towards her as he spoke. With a gravitas that clashed with the way he looked in an oversized robe, he countered, "Kahaaniyaan vah sangeet hain jisakee ham pratidhvani karate hain."

The two of them stared at each other for a while before Ganesh turned to Shadow from where he was still stuck. He assessed the man in silence for several seconds before he repeated as best as he could in English, "Stories are the music we echo."

Ganesh mouthed 'Laura' as well as his eyes clouded, like he's trying to remember something. He walked to the projector next and let his gaze travel across the film strip first before his index finger followed. As it did, the movie flashed on the screen again but this time to rewind, going all the way back to beginning.

The dead girl from the ending appeared. But she looked brand new, dressed in a uniform of black and gold with a bow tie. She dealt cards before a table of people and gave away chips to any of them whose luck fared out.

Ganesh kept his finger on the strip and pulled until the image on screen bled into the space where they are, and Shadow became a part of the scene though still far away from the woman who would betray him someday.

"Go to your wife."

Laura wouldn't be able to see or hear him in this static form; she's nothing more than a frozen beautiful memory Shadow can make his peace with for the time being.

There is no sound on the screen anymore, just pictures moving backwards and forwards, colors of gold and red and black bleeding through the canvas.

“Go to your wife.” the man that had been a stranger not so long ago says, and Shadow wants to shake his head. The woman on the screen is a stranger too, an unfaithful woman, a wife so bored that she took a cheap thrill ride with someone that didn’t even interest her. A wife so lonely that a cock in her mouth feels better than the nothingness in her chest.

But as so often with him, he’s not the protagonist here. So Shadow feels himself getting sucked into the picture, his contours all dark on a silver screen, sitting at a BlackJack table, facing a woman who has a deep sadness around her eyes shrouded in green eye shadow.

His hand is taking a plastic coin that is lying before him, making it dance between his fingers, over his knuckles and under. He's very skilled at this, and usually it calms down his thoughts. Today though it's different. When Shadow looks down at the coin, he can see strings on his fingers. Following them with his eyes he realizes they're at his arms too. And his legs. And now the coin is not a coin anymore, as it's become a pale round moon.

"You're not who you think you are." the woman who is Laura and not Laura tells him while stoically dealing more cards. "And death is just the beginning."

With this he is thrown out of the movie, back to the couch where he is gasping for air. 

The power pulsating between his fingertips after he willed the film reel to obey his command was something more foreign to Ganesh than he lets on. Although it's been a decade since he found out he can do some things mortal men cannot, he still believed it was some kind of a trick in nature.

Mankind someday might evolve into beings capable of such magic, and perhaps he was merely given a head start with that transformation.

At least that's the story he tells himself. In times of Delirium, however, such a precious tale quickly loses its authenticity. He didn't want to think about her at the moment, not here in some whore's room--and not while his dark companion with an ailment in the soul needed immediate attention.

Ganesh was forced to let go of the reel when it ignited all of a sudden. The strip was aflame for a few seconds as he took a cautious step back from the equipment. Huffing in annoyance, Ganesh kissed the tips of his forefinger and thumb to ease the slight burn on them.

"Benchod," he cursed under his breath as he tried to slap the flames away with his other hand. The fire disappeared before it even made contact. And Phoebe chuckled. He almost forgot she was still there.

He snapped his head to look at her, half-scolding and half-intrigued. Afterwards he approached Shadow Moon in the sofa and patted him on the shoulder.

"It's okay," he said in the blandest of tones, like nothing out of the ordinary occurred. "You are going to be okay. It's just..." He waved his hand towards the black screen in front of them, "...a story. We can rewrite stories. We can cast different people for the roles..."

He glanced at Phoebe and she remarked, "I'm afraid some roles are far more important than others."

She glided closer to the pair of men until she sat beside Shadow to cup his chin and make him look into her eyes.

"Every now and then, however, what seems like a small part or a forgettable character can have a much larger impact to a story than a writer has yet to utilize."

Ganesh's eyebrows knitted together in annoyance once more. And then he grabbed Phoebe's wrist to pull her away from Shadow. He dragged her a few feet away from the sofa.

"I came here because of a promise," In spite of the urgency in his action, there were pauses in his sentences as he actively translated the phrases in his head. "I brought very loyal followers. Thirty is enough, you said. You said--he said he can show me truth. About what is happening to me. Why I have this..."

He raises his other hand, showing her his palm in a symbolic gesture. He excepted her to understand he meant the magic in his veins.

"...but now you say this man I brought is part of it? I don't know what you said just now but I feel your motives. Here."

The same hand rested on top of her breast. And then he ceased holding her wrist to grab her by the back of the head instead.

"What do you want from Shadow Moon?" He snapped his head towards the man in the sofa. "I think our meeting was set-up. I know when I'm being..."

Fooled? Deceived? Those English words don't seem to capture the disrespect he felt about this situation. So he said:

"Fucked in the ass with no lube."

There. Better. He liked the sound of the syllables and the foul voracity they convey. Nothing like Hindi though, but they sufficed for now.

This Phoebe didn't feel like how most women feel like under the sheets earlier, and she's beginning to test his patience.

It’s the pain of his fingernails biting into the flesh of his palm that is urging Shadow to open the fist he had formed since he had gotten sucked onto the screen. In it lies a dark casino chip, glistening with his sweat. He is sure he didn’t have it before, as golden coins are his usual choice, and he is also sure that it’s the one he had grabbed from the table Laura Not Laura had been serving in the movie. He can’t stop his fingers making the chip dance over his knuckles and under, and watching his own little game makes him dizzy.

It’s his boss’ harsh words that make him jerk his head in his direction, just in time to find Ganesh take the whore into a tight grip, and using his name in a sentence. It’s difficult to make sense of all this. Was his boss accusing Phoebe to play a foul game? But look at the smile on her lips, so sweet he almost gets a sugar rush. And that aura around her person, like a red and golden sunset. His chin still feels her touch where she had connected with him, and in his mind the spark still lights up that he has seen in her eyes. How could his boss be cross with this woman? If woman is even the right word, as to Shadow she feels like a goddess now.

Getting up from the couch with difficulty, tucking the chip away in his pocket, he grabs Ganesh’ wrist that holds tight Phoebe, trying to force him to let go.

“Then let’s do this. Rewrite our own story, cast it with new people.”

His voice is so firm it sounds strange in his own head. It might be the first time he had ever uttered a demand, and his fingers are closing tighter around Ganesh’ wrist.

“And if death is just the beginning,” he throws a side glance at Phoebe, whose beauty is almost blinding him now, “I need to find Laura. My Laura.” 

The anger was there, aimed at the woman whom he had taken to bed a while ago. But a small part of Ganesh wondered if it was misdirected. When he has her in his grasp like this, he could sense she was hardly ordinary to begin with, but he should have known this already after they laid together.

His bodyguard with the ominous pretty name intervened moments later, spouting out the same reassurance Ganesh invoked for him. He grinded his teeth and glared at Shadow Moon. Then he glanced back at Phoebe. 

He wanted to take off one sandal and chastise the pair, like a father ought to for stubborn runts, as each rubber blow to the head, the shoulder and arm is struck for the sake of reminding the child that love and obedience should mingle with fear.

But Ganesh was no one's father. Not in the biological sense, no. At least not anymore.

"Did you know?" he asked Shadow, not specifying exactly what since he expected for the darker man to understand. Ganesh let Phoebe go and grabbed the same hand Shadow placed upon his wrist. There's pressure in his grasp, but it was almost like he wanted to be sure that his bodyguard was more real than the piece of cinema that unfolded before them.

As if sensing their psyche, the dark screen flickered. Images of Shadow's dead wife filled the surface, like snapshots of memories. Ganesh acknowledged them only peripherally and was annoyed.

"So," he loosened his hold on the man's hand but never let go, "You love her very much. Maybe it was mercy you didn't have to hold her broken body while she died."

Still in his peripheral, he saw Subhadra on the screen among a pile of bodies surrounded by gunfire and fallen concrete.

He shouted 'fuck off!' in his native tongue as he snapped his head towards it. The screen went dark again.

When Ganesh raised Shadow's hand, a coin appeared on his palm.

A disembodied arm holding a flower. Another arm has its hand raised and that palm burst with flowing water. 

"Wealth and prosperity," he took the coin and laid it on its other side back on Shadow's palm.

Same pair of disembodied arms but different receptacles; one was an empty palm facing downward. The other was raised, holding a tooth of some kind. Possibly a tusk.

"Misfortune. Obstacles," Ganesh almost spat out the words. And then he took the coin one last time and moved it close to Shadow's mouth, "Think of her. And swallow."

He closed his eyes, as if he was in fervent prayer, uttering, "Pagalpanti."

Ganesh's eyes fluttered open again and he made Shadow say the word, "Pagalpanti. Think of her. Swallow."

Coin and death. Death and coin. His whole life right now seems to circle around these two things, and somehow they are connected, but not in a way he can understand.

Madness. All of this is madness. The whore, the movie, his life. And now his boss is trying to stuff a coin in his mouth, and Shadow is not even really surprised by it. Standing there he is swaying a little, his overloaded mind exhausting his body, and he wishes so much he’d just wake up and find himself in bed awoken from a weird nightmare. Maybe if he wished hard enough, he’d have Laura back in his arms, her warm body pressing against his, her wet breath causing goosebumps on his neck. The screen is flickering on and off as if remote controlled by Ganesh, and every picture shown is another nightmare.

“I don’t…” he starts saying, but that’s when he can already taste the coppery coin in his mouth. His mind is telling him to spit it out, but his body seems adamant to absorb it. Not fully though, as the piece of metal gets stuck in his throat, and he has to double over with a suffocated cough. So this is how he will die. In a whorehouse, with something stuck in his throat. It would have been funny if not for the fact that it’s not funny at all.

“Laura.” he thinks, and then “Laura.”

Maybe it’s a self-preserving reflex, but the coin is loosening and then slides down his pipe like a piece of mellon. There’s more coughing, but after a short while Shadow straightens up and finds Ganesh’ gaze on him.

“What did you…?”

The question is leaving him, seeming not important anymore. It might be madness, but he’s never felt better in his life. Another coughing that turns to laughter. And laughter turns to louder laughter, until it becomes almost manic, with tears streaming down Shadow’s face, resulting in him finally doubling over again. This time not from pain, but from an explosion of energy right in his guts.

Ganesh stood and watched as Shadow embraced it—embraced her, this encompassing delight except it’s a thicker stickier, more congealed madness—too slimy to swallow, as it lingered at the back of the throat no matter how you try to drown it away with saliva or booze.

“Let it happen,” he coached on, “Delirium will pass. And you will feel everything. Everything is better than nothing.”

The old don could sense the coin. He could almost draw a map as it traveled down Shadow’s lungs, gut, and loins. But it was capricious too, and wouldn’t stay in one place at all. Like madness, it has free reign to roam wherever the fuck it pleased. And boy did it take Shadow Moon for a ride. It tickled, caressed and squeezed. Potent, playful pagalpanti. 

Ganesh was envious and worried all at once. After another minute, he grabbed the man’s hand to help him stand, for halfway through the ride he’s collapsed on the ground. Phoebe—unsurprisingly—took the other hand. Not a second later and she’s embracing Shadow, patting him down on his back like a mother assisting a babe so he could burp.

“That’s what joy tastes like, no, sahib?” he smiled mirthlessly at his bodyguard while the whore was still rocking him in her arms.

His phone buzzed from the pocket in the robe he’s presently donned on. Ganesh snapped it open and kept his eyes on the swaying pair as he spoke to the other line. “Yes?” And then in Hindi, “On our way already. Everything’s fine. Yes, benchod, I know, the package. Quell that hard-on, it’s coming! It’ll be there in three hours, maybe four.”

He turned his back to add, “I have a wake to attend first. Yes, it will be quick. Whose wake? The bastard who pumped your grandmother with cum, gandu, so what business is it of yours? Just be there before me. And take care of the other shipment.” 

In English now, “Have a pleasant afternoon.”

Ganesh turned to Shadow and Phoebe again to say, “I have other appointments to keep. Tell him or the boy…or that woman that we should reschedule.” He could say their names, but names have power.

“No need,” Phoebe shook her head, chuckling lightly, “You’ve already met her…through me.” She gestured suggestively at her body. “I am her avatar—every actress, every journalist, every talk show host, every glamorous model. To know her is to be entertained. To be swept away in dreams of fame and applause.”

“Great,” Unimpressed, Ganesh slipped his arm to lock around Shadow as he dragged the man away to the nearest exit, “So her altar was between your legs. Good to know. For next time. I’ll pray harder.”

“Don’t be a stranger, Ganesh Gaitonde,” the woman blew a kiss at the men and waved them off. As she turned away, she uttered, “We all need powerful allies in this new world where gods away from home like yourself might need to scavenge like the rest.”

As they passed through the doors, Ganesh soon realized that the sun was scorching hot at this peak of the hour, and that there are already many vehicles driving past on the lane. Have they been inside for hours? 

“We’re going to see your dead wife now,” he told Shadow as he kept pulling his bodyguard all the way back to the car. 

Wake then package, then new client, then wedding. The old don started ticking off that mental list.