Kaurav now somewhat understands the meaning of his name. He realizes that “Kaurav” is not singular but plural; it represents a group, a collective—a child born of blind passion. He is defiant. The guardianship that nurtures people into ease, he abandons. Instead, he runs toward what is Bhima—a symbol of strength and rebellion. He is the one who, in his arrogance, will attempt to capture divinity in his fist, only to be defeated by destiny.
What is Kaurav’s destiny? To be defeated! No, it is to fight without deception, even while knowing defeat is inevitable. Two years have passed since that day. In all this time, he hasn’t shirked his work, not for a moment. After graduation, his immediate task was to enroll in a master’s program, as his guardians wished. But he had been considering a diploma at NSD instead. However, he still hadn’t grasped the nature of organizations.
When Vismaya left the group, Kaurav had plenty to say about Ronida’s role but could never articulate it. Vismaya handed him the baton skillfully before departing, even saying, “Don’t feel guilty about this. This happens in groups.” Kaurav looks away from the outside world. Perhaps he wishes he could adopt a corporate mindset; it might have made things easier. But Kaurav had tried to fly his plane with a kite tethered behind it. The kite, caught in the wind, had torn away.
There was a time when he could confide everything to Pornadi—all his thoughts and feelings. Pornadi had treated him like her own son. But after her divorce from Ronida, Kaurav found it impossible to remain neutral, and he lost that refuge too.
Over the last year and a half, he has seen how anti-establishment individuals themselves become institutions. He has witnessed the workings of the Theatre Academy and Natya Swajan. He has seen the loot under the new government—meetings held in the name of grants, where theater groups and clubs scramble for scraps like sweets thrown to children. He has seen sponsorships, politics, and the peculiar spring festival where red turns to green, and green gradually shades into saffron.
Through this chaotic festival, Kaurav’s bus navigates the turns of the road. The air is filled with the noise of hatred. At the intersection, a blazing fire burns. The smell of charred corpses wafts through the air. Kaurav sees a fetus impaled on a trident, flying high like a flag against the sky. A chill runs down his spine. He wants to slam the window shut. His phone rings.
Disclaimer
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. The views and opinions expressed in this novel are those of the characters and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of any agency, organization, or entity. Reader discretion is advised.