Ch 7: Return To Town

The moment Kali vomited blood, the entire room fell into a suffocating silence. Fear gripped everyone's hearts. His mother, frozen in shock, stared at him with wide, tear-filled eyes. Her mind refused to accept what she had just witnessed.

But within seconds, she snapped out of it. Wiping her tears away, she refused to let panic consume her. Her son needed her. Trembling, she grabbed a bottle of water, wet her hands, and gently wiped his face, smudging away the blood and sweat. Her fingers trembled as she caressed his cheeks, just like she used to when he was a child. With the edge of her dress, she carefully wiped his face, whispering softly, "Beta… I'm here. I'm right here with you."

Kali felt it—the warmth, the love, the familiarity of his mother's touch. His mind, drowning in pain and confusion, suddenly reached into his past. A buried memory surfaced—he was a little boy, fallen off his bicycle, his knee scraped and bleeding. His mother had rushed to him, tears in her eyes, scolding him while carefully dressing his wound.

The memory hit him so hard that his vision blurred with tears. He was stunned for a moment, lost between past and present, before reality pulled him back. He tried to speak—to call her, to tell her he knew she was there—but his lips trembled. His throat locked, refusing to let the words out.

His mother, still stroking his face, suddenly heard it—a weak, broken whisper.

"Maa..."

The single word shattered her heart. It was unsteady, fragile, but filled with so much pain and longing. And then, like a dam bursting, Kali cried. He clutched onto her, burying his face in her lap, his body shaking with uncontrollable sobs.

"I'm scared, Maa… I don't understand what's happening to me… I don't even know who I am anymore…"

His voice cracked under the weight of his emotions. His mother held him tighter, her fingers running through his hair. She fought back her own tears and whispered, "Shh… I'll take care of you, beta. You're not alone."

Her voice wrapped around him like a warm embrace. His sobs quieted, his breathing steadied, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he felt safe.

But just as his heart began to settle—a sudden jolt shot through his head.

A sharp, unbearable shock—like lightning striking inside his skull. His body stiffened, his eyes widened in agony. Before he could even process what was happening—

—everything went black.

His mother's smile faded instantly.

"Kali...? Beta?"

Her voice trembled. He didn't respond. Her hands, still cradling him, began to shake.

"Kali…?"

Panic flooded her eyes as she gently shook him. But he had already slipped away into unconsciousness.

Kali found himself walking through a misty field at night. The moonlight barely illuminated the path ahead. Everything felt distant, unreal. And then, he heard a voice—soft, divine, familiar.

A beautiful, radiant woman walked beside him. Her presence felt ethereal, almost godlike.

"Beta… I'm right here with you. I'll look after you. You're not alone."

The exact words his mother had spoken. But… who was she? He tried to look at her face, but it was blurred, unrecognizable. A sudden wave of unease washed over him.

Then, the vision shifted.

A blinding flash.

He saw himself crashing into a mountain at an unimaginable speed. The force of the impact sent a shock through his entire being—

—and he woke up.

Return to Reality

Water sprinkled onto his face. Slowly, his heavy eyelids fluttered open. His mother leaned over him, her worried eyes scanning his face.

"Kali… beta, are you alright?"

He took a deep breath, his chest aching. His voice was hoarse as he muttered, "Am I okay now…?" He winced slightly, feeling the stiffness in his body. His gaze shifted to the ceiling, but his thoughts weren't there.

That faceless woman…

Her words echoed in his mind. Why did she sound exactly like his mother?

After some time, he felt his stomach churn. His mother helped him stand, holding onto him until he reached the restroom. He shut the door behind him.

When he walked out, his movements were slow, his body still weak. He wanted to wash his face.

"Nurse… can you remove the dressing on my face?" His voice was steady but tired.

The nurse carefully unwrapped the bandages. His reflection in the mirror slowly came into view. He splashed water onto his face and looked up—

—and froze.

The person in the mirror… wasn't him.

His own face felt like that of a stranger. His features had changed. He was no longer the boy he remembered. A wave of unease crept over him.

"It's been… 2-3 years since I've been in a coma. I've changed so much."

But before he could process that thought—

his reflection darkened.

His alter ego. The same one from his dreams.

A chilling whisper escaped the mirror.

"This is not enough… we still have a lot to do. We will change this. We will complete our karma. We are here…"

His mind spiraled. He clenched his fists, trying to stop thinking. Trying to push it away.

The next morning, after the final checkup, the doctor said, "You're stable now. You can leave the hospital tomorrow."

And so, the day came. His mother paid the bills, and they left.

The bus jolted slightly as it rode along the uneven roads, the rhythmic hum of its engine filling the quiet space between them. Kali sat beside his mother, his posture slightly hunched, his gaze fixed on the window. He wasn't really looking at anything—just staring into the blur of fields and houses passing by.

His mother, sitting beside him, kept glancing at him from time to time. She wanted to speak, to ask him something, but she hesitated. She knew her son had changed.

The boy she once knew was full of life—always excited, always talking about something, always moving forward. But the young man sitting beside her now was silent, lost in thoughts too deep for her to reach.

Finally, she broke the silence.

"Kali… are you okay?"

His gaze didn't shift. His fingers lightly tapped against his knee.

"I don't know," he muttered after a long pause.

His mother sighed softly. She placed a hand over his, squeezing it gently. "I know things feel different. But we're going home. Everything will be alright."

Kali just gave a small nod. But deep inside, he wasn't sure if he believed that.

The town slowly came into view. The familiar roads, the small tea stalls on the corners, the old banyan tree where elders gathered every evening to talk about the world—nothing had changed.

But he had.

As they rode through the streets, he suddenly noticed something. People were decorating the town. Colorful cloths were being hung between buildings, children ran around carrying little pots, and an aroma of freshly made sweets filled the air.

He furrowed his brows. "Why are they doing this?"

His mother smiled, looking at the cheerful crowd. "Ah… they're preparing for Krishna Janmashtami."

Kali blinked. The name felt… familiar. But distant.

His mother turned to him, warmth in her voice. "Do you remember? Our town celebrates it grandly every year. Flying kites, painting little footprints, making sweets... Do you remember? I used to dress you like Krishna."

Kali's expression remained blank. He searched his mind, but… nothing came.

"No… I don't remember," he admitted.

His mother's smile faltered, just for a moment. But then, she simply patted his hand. "It's okay, beta."

The bus stopped. The door creaked open. They had arrived.

The moment Kali stepped into the small house, an odd feeling crept over him.

Dust. Silence. The faint scent of old wooden furniture. The air inside felt stagnant, as if time had stopped the day he left. His mother exhaled deeply, placing her bag down. She looked around, eyes scanning the layers of dust that coated everything.

Without hesitation, she picked up a broomstick and began sweeping.

Kali stood there, watching her move around. His mother—this frail woman who had waited for him all these years—was now cleaning alone.

His mind snapped back to reality.

"Let me help, Maa."

His mother paused, looking at him with soft but firm eyes. "No, beta. You just got out of the hospital. You should rest."

"Maa…" He stepped forward. "I can't just sit and do nothing. Let me do something."

His mother stared at him, emotions swirling in her eyes. Something about the way he said those words—it reminded her of the past.

A little boy, no older than five, standing in the kitchen, trying to help her knead dough for chapatis. A ten-year-old version of him, carefully folding clothes while she cooked. The teenager who insisted on carrying heavy groceries so she wouldn't have to.

Her son was still there. He had just… changed.

She smiled softly, nodding. "Alright, beta."

Together, they cleaned. Kali picked up old chairs, arranged them properly. His mother wiped down the cabinets. They moved through the house like a team, slowly bringing life back into their home.

And for the first time in years, the house felt like a home again.

By the time they were done, the sky had turned deep orange. Night was approaching. The house was clean, but their stomachs were empty.

His mother sighed. "I'll go buy some vegetables. Stay here and rest."

Kali didn't argue. He simply nodded.

She left, and for a moment, the house was silent again. He sat down on the small wooden chair near the window, looking outside.

Children were still playing, their laughter echoing through the streets. Somewhere, a shopkeeper was shouting about fresh sweets. Bells from a distant temple rang, blending into the evening air.

Life had continued. Even when he was gone for years, life had moved forward.

His mother returned with a small bag of vegetables and quickly prepared dinner. The food was simple—roti, dal, and some sabzi—but it smelled warm, comforting.

As he ate, Kali felt the exhaustion settle into his bones. A deep yawn escaped him, and his mother chuckled.

"Go sleep, beta. You need rest."

He didn't argue. As soon as he lay down on the old bed, his body sank into the mattress. His muscles ached slightly, but his mind… his mind was drowning in thoughts.

The mirror. The alter ego. The voice.

And yet, despite the storm in his head, sleep took him fast.

His mother sat beside him, watching his chest rise and fall in steady breaths.

She lifted her hand and gently ran her fingers through his hair. He had grown so much. He was no longer the little boy she used to carry in her arms. But he would always be her son.

Her eyes glistened with unspoken prayers.

She pressed her palm lightly against his forehead, whispering, "Thank you, gods… for bringing my son back to me."

And as she continued stroking his hair, her own eyelids grew heavy. Without realizing it, she slowly leaned against the bed and fell asleep beside him.

For the first time in years, under the same roof, they slept peacefully.