Chapter 27-Too Late
Vikram did not remember leaving the council chamber.
He remembered the messenger.
He remembered the words.
Princess Ganga is dead.
After that, everything fractured.
Someone shouted his name.
Ranveer followed him.
A horse was brought.
Lakshmidevi tried to stop him long enough to make him take an escort.
Vikram did not listen.
He rode.
Hard.
Far too hard.
The road to Devagarh blurred beneath him.
His daughter.
Dead.
His mind refused the word.
Ganga was one year old.
One.
She had barely begun to walk.
Had she begun to walk?
He did not know.
The realization struck so violently he nearly lost his grip on the reins.
He didn't know if his daughter could walk.
He didn't know her first word.
Didn't know what she liked to eat.
Didn't know which song made her laugh.
Didn't know whether she slept through the night.
Didn't know if she preferred Vinaya's arms or Lakshmidevi's when frightened.
He had a daughter for one year.
And he knew almost nothing about her.
Because he had chosen not to.
Vikram bent lower over the horse.
"Faster."
The animal was already exhausted.
He did not care.
Then shame came immediately.
He had cared more for the exhaustion of a horse than for the loneliness of his own child.
No.
That was not fair.
He had loved Ganga.
Somewhere.
Buried beneath grief and fear and guilt.
But love that remained hidden had done nothing for her.
Ganga had never known it.
The thought nearly destroyed him.
It was night when he reached Devagarh.
The residence was silent.
No servants rushed to greet him.
No lamps blazed in celebration.
Only a few burned in the courtyard.
Vikram dismounted before the horse stopped completely.
"Where is she?"
The steward came forward.
His eyes were red.
"Your Highness."
"Where is my daughter?"
The man's expression changed.
Vikram immediately hated the question.
As though Ganga might still be somewhere.
Playing.
Sleeping.
Waiting.
He swallowed.
"Where is Vinaya?"
The steward looked toward the eastern wing.
"She has not left the princess."
Vikram stopped.
Has not left.
Present tense.
As if Ganga were merely sleeping.
He walked inside.
No.
He ran.
The halls seemed impossibly long.
He reached the chamber.
The door stood half open.
Vikram pushed it wider.
Then stopped.
Vinaya sat on the floor beside a low bed.
Ganga lay upon it.
Dressed in white.
For several seconds, Vikram could not move.
His daughter looked asleep.
That was the cruelest thing.
Her dark hair had been carefully combed.
Tiny flowers had been placed beside her head.
One hand rested near her chest.
Vikram stared.
That hand.
The hand that had once closed around his finger.
He had thought about that moment so often after sending them away.
He had told himself there would be time.
When she was older.
When the pain became easier.
When he was ready.
There was no time.
Vikram stepped into the room.
Vinaya did not look up.
"Vinaya."
Nothing.
He came closer.
Her face terrified him.
She was not crying.
Not anymore.
Her eyes were swollen.
Empty.
Vikram knelt.
His gaze returned to Ganga.
There was a small wooden elephant tucked beside her.
Painted blue.
One ear was chipped.
Vikram stared at it.
"What is that?"
The question came out before he could stop it.
Vinaya's fingers tightened.
Still she did not look at him.
Vikram knew immediately.
Her favorite toy.
Probably.
Perhaps.
He did not know.
Of course he did not know.
His throat closed.
"Was that hers?"
Vinaya finally moved.
She touched the elephant gently.
"She slept with it."
Vikram closed his eyes.
He had not known.
He opened them again.
"I should have—"
The words died.
What could possibly follow?
Should have visited?
Should have held her?
Should have kept them at the palace?
Should have been a father?
Yes.
All of it.
Vinaya remained beside Ganga.
Vikram reached toward his daughter.
His hand stopped above her hair.
He was afraid to touch her.
The absurdity nearly made him laugh.
He had been afraid to touch her alive.
Now he was afraid to touch her dead.
His fingertips finally brushed her hair.
Cold.
Vikram jerked his hand back.
"No."
The word escaped him.
Vinaya did not react.
"No."
He touched Ganga again.
This time her cheek.
Still cold.
Vikram's face crumpled.
"Ganga."
Nothing.
Of course.
"Appa is here."
The word nearly broke him.
Appa.
Had she ever called anyone that?
Had she known who he was?
Vikram bent over his daughter's body.
"I am here."
Too late.
Always too late.
His shoulders shook.
"I'm sorry."
Vinaya closed her eyes.
Vikram did not know how long he cried.
Eventually, he became aware of her again.
She was staring at Ganga.
Not him.
Never him.
He whispered, "Vinaya."
Slowly, she turned.
Her eyes met his.
And for the first time since his arrival, she truly looked at him.
No anger.
No accusation.
Nothing.
That emptiness frightened him more than hatred ever could.
Her voice was quiet.
Almost curious.