Chapter 30-The Light Gone From Her Eyes
Vinaya stopped reading.
That frightened Vikram first.
Books had always been everywhere around her.
On tables.
Beside the bed.
Carried beneath one arm through the corridors.
Now they remained untouched.
Then she stopped going to council.
Stopped visiting the gardens.
Stopped laughing with Balram.
Stopped arguing quietly with Ranveer.
Stopped teasing Kalyani for stealing her books.
She ate when someone reminded her.
Slept badly.
Spoke rarely.
The palace tiptoed around her.
Vikram hated it.
Not because of inconvenience.
Because this was what he had done.
Not Ganga's death.
He could not claim responsibility for the fever.
But the isolation.
The exile.
The memories Vinaya now carried of her daughter's final year without a father.
Those were his.
He began checking on her.
At first from a distance.
"Did she eat?"
"A little, Your Highness."
"Did she sleep?"
"Two hours."
"Did she go outside?"
"No."
Then he began going himself.
He sat across from her.
Sometimes for an hour.
She barely acknowledged him.
Once, he wished she would shout.
Throw something.
Tell him she hated him.
Anything.
Instead she looked through him.
And Vikram discovered that being unseen by Vinaya was far more painful than he had ever imagined being unseen could be.
One evening he found her by the window.
Rain struck the glass.
"Vinaya."
Nothing.
He sat nearby.
"I went to Ganga's garden today."
That got the smallest reaction.
Her fingers moved.
"We planted white jasmine."
Vinaya closed her eyes.
Vikram continued.
"I don't know what flowers she liked."
Silence.
"So I chose something you like."
Vinaya spoke.
"I don't know if I like jasmine anymore."
His heart sank.
Priya.
Of course.
Even flowers had ghosts.
"I can change them."
"No."
"Vinaya—"
"It doesn't matter."
Everything mattered.
That was the problem.
Vikram leaned forward.
"Tell me what to do."
She finally looked at him.
There was no spark in her eyes.
No irritation.
No shyness.
Nothing.
"You can't do anything."
He swallowed.
"I know."
"Then why do you keep asking?"
Because helplessness was unbearable.
Because fixing things was easier than grief.
Because if she gave him a task, perhaps he could pretend redemption was possible.
He had no answer.
Vinaya looked away.
That night, Vikram could not sleep.
He walked.
Without realizing it, he ended up near the nursery prepared before Ganga's birth.
The room had remained closed.
He opened the door.
Moonlight spilled across the floor.
Then he saw someone.
Vinaya.
Sitting beside the empty cradle.
Vikram stopped.
She held a tiny blanket against her chest.
Her shoulders shook.
No sound.
Just silent grief.
He took one step.
Vinaya did not notice.
Another.
Then he heard her whisper.
"I'm sorry, my baby."
Vikram's chest cracked open.
Vinaya pressed the blanket to her face.
"I'm sorry I couldn't keep you."
Vikram closed his eyes.
She blamed herself.
Of course she did.
Just as he blamed himself.
Perhaps grief always searched for someone to punish.
He approached slowly.
"Vinaya."
She startled.
Then looked at him.
For a moment she seemed ashamed of being caught crying.
That destroyed him.
"You don't have to hide from me."
Her laugh was broken.
"I learned how."
The words cut deeply.
Vikram knelt beside her.
Vinaya did not move away.
That tiny mercy nearly undid him.
They sat beside the empty cradle.
Two parents.
No child.
And in the darkness, Vikram finally understood that Ganga had left behind not merely silence—
but two people who no longer knew how to live inside it.