Unravelling The Eve Within

It was the fifth time the tall, slim man had yelled at the other servant, and Isha shook her head, feeling a mix of disgust and helplessness. To say the least, she was disgusted, and she could see the anger boiling through Sandi; she would have left a hole in the man’s face, and she wouldn’t be wrong in any way. But did a servant have any choice?

If people saw half of what she did, she swore they would live differently, positively. She had seen a million things, and funny enough, ninety per cent of these were in her head. Her psychic gift was real and pure, and although she never knew exactly why, she had somehow learned to deal with it.

Twenty-four years and counting, the journey was a long one, but she figured out each passing day, one day at a time.

“Almost time, guys,” Bhavini called out. She was the princess of the Yadav household; Dark, full hair, the most banging body and a perfect figure eight. Isha always tried as much as she could to shut her third eye whenever Bhavini came around or when she heard her voice, but she always felt something disturbing.

Glancing at the clock, Isha knew that if she kept being distracted, she would not meet her target, and how bad that would be, so she cleared her mind of every unwanted thought and set to work. She mixed drinks and arranged the barstools. The red carpet would begin in two hours; it was enough time to get everything in place for the grand occasion.

The Yadav family was a household name, one that turned a lot of necks. As one of the greatest and best-known doctors in India, and with his active involvement in politics, Preshant Yadav was well recognised in India and beyond. To Isha, this meant hundreds of guests, so much cooking, and, generally, excess stress. She wasn’t wrong, though, for in a few hours, the place was crowded.

Round tables were arranged throughout the room, and people in colourful sarees and designer suits sat at them, chatting and taking photographs. Above the soft music, orders were issued, and the servants did their best to ensure everything was in place. Isha was done cooking, and the highlights of the evening began to unfold as the bride-to-be made her grand entrance.

As the presentation went on, Isha changed into her uniform: white jeans, a white shirt, and a navy-blue hat, with matching sneakers. She ignored the weird feeling in her brain and focused on her job, trying to block out the unsettling sensations. She felt the hairs at the back of her neck stand in harmony, but she ignored that, too. What was the worst that could happen?

She stepped out, feeling and looking smart. She walked around the tables, dropping a menu on every one of them. Fully aware of the stares she received from everyone in the room, she tried not to get distracted. She was a beautiful girl, and she knew it; face and body were a hundred per cent; it seemed God had spent an extra day making her. She knew how well to flaunt her beauty, and even the groom-to-be had been trying so hard to have a relationship with her, but she had turned him down the same way she turned down the numerous guys that had been in line, asking for her hand.

While many thought she was proud for shoving the men away, she knew her actions stemmed from a deep desire to protect them, fostering empathy and understanding in her audience.

Isha gripped the talisman hanging from her neck and muttered prayers as she began to work; its history was long. She grew up like every other girl in a small, quiet town in India, but as she grew older, she began to realise she was far from normal. She always had these dreams, these weird, frightening dreams. Of course, the good ones came from time to time, but out of ten, eight were nightmares, and they didn’t just end there; these dreams manifested. She had spent days wondering and crying about whether she could have prevented some miseries, since she had seen them before they happened, and whether she could use these gifts to help people.  She tried, though, tried so many times to stop until she realised this was beyond her powers.

As though the horror of watching the worst things happen to people wasn’t enough, a new chapter began unfolding in her life. She fell in love, and while that should be a beautiful thing, it ended tragically. Her first was taken away from her in the cruellest manner. After some years, she gave love another try, and the same circumstance replayed. The third had the same story, and Isha decided enough was enough. She had seen all their deaths before they actually happened, and she couldn’t do anything to stop them. She had gone through unbearable pain during that whole period and decided to stay out of relationships until she met Zayn. Zayn Vendant.

Zayn was different from the other guys she had dated before; he loved her, and her psychic gifts told her his love was true. She pushed him away, but he kept coming back till she gave in. He loved her, took care of her and treated her like the most important jewel on the planet. They got so close that she disclosed the true story of her life to him, and instead of driving him away, it drew him closer. Her feelings were let loose, and she fell hard for him, hard in a way no one could understand. They never kept secrets from each other, and their relationship was the kind people dream of, the kind found in fairytales. He talked of getting married to her, travelling the world together, and having children, but she knew it would end up a pipe dream; somehow, she thought he knew it, too. Then one day, the nightmares began, and she couldn’t take it; anyone but Zayn could get hurt, anyone, just not him.

So, she fled, and although she wasn’t proud of it, the only thing that kept her going was that their separation meant he was safe, and that was all she cared for, so why on earth was he on her mind?

She got three orders, delivered them for service, and then proceeded to the table at the far end of the hall. Seated there was a man and two ladies, among whom was Myra Mohan, the goddess of India’s fashion world. She ruled the runway and had once grabbed the Miss Universe crown; everyone knew her, cherished her, and, surprisingly, she had humility attached to all that grace.

Isha was sure this was why she had felt uneasy the whole time; she normally got nervous when she had to serve prominent people.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen”, she called out in her most polite tone. “What can I get you?” she asked, flashing a beautiful smile.

“Let us have drinks for now, we will order food later.” The other lady spoke; she looked like a model, too, Isha judged from her attire. Her neck was adorned with sapphire jewellery, and she looked absolutely stunning.

Isha nodded, “That’s great.” They made their choices of drinks, and Isha couldn’t help glancing at Myra from time to time. The queen was sitting quietly and just pointed out the drink she needed from the menu; she didn’t say a word.

When all was decided, and Isha was made to leave, she heard Myra speak, “Bring an extra three for our friends who went out, the same thing I’m having.” And for the first time, Isha took a good look at her. Her green backless gown flowed gorgeously around her, leaving her looking dashing in every possible way. She smiled at Isha as she spoke, and Isha thought, “What an angel!”

The orders were getting out of hand, and she felt sick, not from the orders but something else; her mind was clouded, and she couldn’t focus on the vision because she was forcing herself not to; she couldn’t be in a trance at such a moment. She had the call that the order for the table where Myra sat was ready. She got them and made her way to where they sat. She could see the table was now occupied; their friends must have been back. She walked swiftly through tables, left hand high at her shoulder level, holding the drinks. She kept her smile on and approached the table until her steps slowed, her vision blurred, and she understood the reason for her uneasiness all evening: Zayn Vendant was sitting side by side with Myra Mohan, hand in hand.