tales of Suchita

Sarla Devi, an octogenarian, sprang up from bed with an agility that belied her age. It was 6 in the morning and she hadn’t been sleeping well for the past one week. Her granddaughter had, very helpfully, told her it was a simple case of old age but it wasn’t that. She could feel it in her bones that something big was coming – the same granddaughter had made another joke, this time related to osteoporosis – but Sarla hadn’t made her usual comeback, much to the granddaughter’s chagrin.

It would be wrong to say Sarla hadn’t thought of ‘old age’ as being the problem. She had. It had been 230 years since she had left Mount Kailas after all. She had been away from the source for so long she was half worried she had utilized all the perks of being an immortal and now her mortal life was catching up with her. She had read, with quite fascination, what had happened, or would happen to Arwen. Elrond’s dire predictions had made her shiver. Maybe the same thing was happening to her too. But she knew it wasn’t anything as simple as old age.

She had stopped following up on him 40 years ago. She had known at the time that he wasn’t dead and would resurface given enough time but she had grown tired of her constant vigilance. And once she had stopped, the League of Loyalists had stopped as well. Ever since, the unease had grown that the decision had been premature. The Loyalists had dressed up the decision as ‘real peace’ earning loads of applause and good wishes. But she knew now what she had only guessed at then…it hadn’t been peace. It had been simple exhaustion.

Abhor’s reign of terror had been swift and complete before Sarla had been dispatched to provide a soothing balm to his atrocities. After she had delivered mankind from his wrath, a form of stupor had fallen over them where they went from one day to the next, unable to live, unable to die, unable to believe that Abhor was really gone. It had taken time, swift quelling of uprisings, healing and shifts for the change to take place. It had been tougher than she had anticipated. She was sure she had aged during that time only for this reason.

And once humanity had begun on that path of survival, it hadn’t taken them long to start thriving. Soon they were ready to shed off the cloud of darkness like dead skin and begin anew. Sarla had been so proud of this development; she hadn’t bothered to keep them vigilant. She hadn’t dared to dampen their high spirits.

And now…the feeling that something was growing…an evil…was so strong upon her, she felt she couldn’t draw a proper breath.

Sarla blinked rapidly as she came back to the present. Surely Abhor wasn’t planning on returning now? But what better time to attack when everyone had forgotten what fear was? That was the curse of the Immortals. They could wait. Time meant nothing to them. In fact if Abhor attacked now, there wouldn’t be a single soul, apart from her, who had been there for the first battle. No one even knew her true identity. Maybe that’s another reason she had aged – to hide the fact that she was immortal and had special powers. Even her granddaughter, her charming and brilliant granddaughter, didn’t know that for a time, a hundred and fifty years ago, Sarla Devi had in fact been Shades, not a superhero exactly, not even the modern equivalent of Batman, but something sinister entirely.

She wondered how Lemon would react if she came to know who her grandmother had been; with her wit and humour she had no doubt. She laughed, trying to conjure a comeback but failed miserably. She was almost tempted to tell her, if only to see her reaction but advised patience to herself. If Abhor resurfaced, her old identity will have to be revealed. If not, did she really want to become the person everyone loved and hated in equal measure?

“Dadi,” said the booming voice from somewhere in the kitchen, “do you think you can make your famous bhindi sabji and rotis for lunch?”

Lemon, she was sure, would say something completely inane when confronted with the news that her old, wrinkly grandmother used to prance around in tights, a robe and a corset that made her look absolutely ravishing. It was the greys and blacks she so seemed to love that had led to her being called Shades. She had later taken the name Sarla, after the incredible woman who had served her faithfully before being killed by Abhor.

That old anger at not having avenged her death rose again inside her, burning her like acidity. Suddenly she grew very afraid. What if Abhor did return? Would she, who had been Sarla for so long, be able to get it up? Did she still have it in her to fight the way she had fought a century and a half ago?

*

Tarak Suri reread the email he had typed. He had been working on it for a few days because he wanted it to be perfect. He chuckled at the convenience that technology afforded him. He no longer needed to physically go anywhere. Just a few buttons and the world was at his feet. It fascinated him how humans instead of saving themselves only seemed to be creating one weapon after the other that had the potential to destroy their very existence.

He had resisted it at first, integrating into the larger society by adopting their means and methods. Soon he had realized if he wanted to stay hidden and work on growing his empire, away from the sharp eyes of both Mount Kailas and Yamini, he would have to adapt. That had only served to fuel his rage and hatred.

But it was time now to shed off the loathsome persona of Tarak Suri and take on the mantle of Abhor, the cruellest, most vicious enemy mankind had ever faced.

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