Duty Born of Loss
Kali: Flame of Samsara
Pairing: Deviya Sharma x Kamal Rai
Words: 2K
Rating: M
Tag: @rc-catalog
An exploration of the 5 years between the attack on the Himalayan estate and the events in 1900. Part 2 of 2.
See Part 1
***Kamal***
Two weeks slip by.
He doesn’t look up at the door’s soft creak, too absorbed by the reports spread out across the mahogany desk.
He rubs his eyes, the weariness etched deep.
Between steering the Rai family business, managing his sister’s biye‑kotha, checking in on Devi, and keeping the Sharma accounts steady… the days have begun to feel painfully short for Kamal Rai.
“I’m not hungry, thank you.”
Instead of retreating, the intruder steps in. Light, sure, unhesitating.
“I’m glad for you, seeing as I’m not offering.”
His head snaps up.
“Devi.”
She gives him a small smile, fragile at the edges, never quite reaching those beautiful, sorrow‑shadowed eyes.
“Hello, mister Rai.”
He takes her in while she moves around the desk, fingertips grazing the papers as she reviews them.
She’s grown thinner, enough that it shows in the hollows of her face.
A faint frown creases Kamal’s brow.
She’s close enough now that the faint scent of jasmine oil clings to him, soft and familiar…
That scent takes him back a few weeks. To the thin Himalayan air, cold in his lungs, sharp against his skin. He remembers the quiet intensity of that sparring session. The muted scuff of feet on stone, sharp smiles, banter, clever feints.
Cunning, Devi had tricked Kamal first. But her slyness couldn’t beat his decades of experience. He countered, and her balance faltered. He’d caught her instinctively, felt her warm breath against his cheek, pulse fluttering wildly beneath his hands. A whiff of fragrant Jasmine, enticing, so much so that he couldn’t help but lean in to it. Into her.
That memory—Devi’s eyes turning bright, a faint flush to her cheeks—settles uncomfortably deep. It had been far too long since Kamal Rai had felt so disarmed by a simple sparring match.
He draws a steady breath and shakes the unwelcome thoughts away.
“Reports from the mines?”
He nods, attention deliberately returning to the papers.
“Your family business is doing well.”
Devi picks up a nearby stack, scanning the documents with a concentration that stirs something protective in Kamal’s chest.
“Hm. Seems so.”
Then she lifts her gaze to his, direct, authoritative.
“So, you will teach me to manage the Sharma mines.”
“If that’s what you want. We could also contact one of your uncles.”
“No. This my duty. I owe it to my parents, to Kai… I won’t let some long-lost relative ruin everything they built.”
The certainty in that voice, the weight of duty carried so naturally, belongs to someone far older than Miss Devi Sharma. It pains him to have to place such a burden on her shoulders.
But this is how she’ll regain her freedom.
“Then take a seat,” Kamal says at last. “You were given 5 years to learn and I don’t intend to waste another minute. I will come by each evening to review the day’s reports with you. Tomorrow, you will register at Kolkata University. And when your studies allow, we will visit every one of your mines so that you may learn how to manage them properly.”
She nods, already leaning in, close enough that he feels the warmth of her presence.
“See these? They’re from the superintendents. Updates on production, workers—”
“Miss Deviya! Oh, miss, it’s so good to see you up and about!”
Aishwarya bustles in, beaming upon seeing her young mistress up and about, finally! She glances around and sniffs at the dimly lit study as if it personally offends her.
“Come, leave all this gloominess. Let me prepare your favourite. You must be starving, my dear.”
“I’m fine, Aishwarya. I’d rather keep studying these.”
“Nonsense! You need sustenance. Look at you, nothing but bones! Come. I’m not taking a no for an answer.”
The maid gently ushers Devi toward the door, but she pauses, turning back.
Her gaze finds his—and holds.
“One more thing,” she says quietly, “You will train me to fight. I never again want to be so…”
Defenceless.
The unspoken word hangs heavy between them, the wounds left by that cowardly attack still too raw.
He gives a single nod.
A small smile slips free—brief, almost involuntary—before Devi disappears down the corridor.
By the gods, Kamal vows silently, Devi will never be harmed again. And it begins with teaching her how to defend herself.
***********************************
***Devi***
The weeks blur into months, then a year passes, each day carved into the same relentless rhythm. Dawn meant reports — stacks of them, ink smudging her fingers as she traced numbers, shipments, discrepancies. Then the long ride through crowded streets and markets to Kolkata university, where she sat through lectures on business and accounting, absorbing everything with a hunger that surprised even her professors.
By late afternoon, Kamal would appear at the estate, always with that quiet, assessing gaze. He’d go over her lessons, correct her assumptions, push her critical thinking. Then came the physical training — katar drills until her wrists trembled, saber forms until her shoulders burned, unarmed defense until she could barely lift her arms.
Every night she collapsed into bed, muscles screaming, mind mercifully blank. Exhaustion was a balm. It kept her from drifting back to that night. The gunfire, shouting, the moment Kairas fell. The memory still hit like a blow to her gut. She clenched her jaw every time it surfaced, furious at her own helplessness.
And the worst part? They were no closer to answers.
Kamal, Vidya, Raj and the other leaders had chased every lead, but the trail kept dissolving into smoke.
Meanwhile, the Dozen, once unshakeable, had splintered. Old grudges resurfaced. Suspicion seeped into every conversation.
Yes, the attackers had been British, that much was clear. But how had they known about the secret meeting?
Someone from within had betrayed them.
A cowardly rat.
Until that traitor was dragged into the light, the Dozen’s rule over Bengal would remain fractioned, weakened.
“Deviya.”
She smiles at the familiar voice, shifting her satchel higher before stepping off the curb. Kamal rarely came to meet her anywhere but the estate.
“Devi, who is that?”
“Is that your brother? Tell me he’s single.”
Her classmates all but swoon, batting their lashes at him. Devi doesn’t blame them. Kamal is handsome, unmistakably of noble upbringing, yet he carries the quiet danger of a man who’d survived more battles than he spoke of.
Her cheeks warm as she shoos them away.
“He’s my guardian, and he has no interest in silly girls like you.”
They pout dramatically, then dissolve into giggles as they head for their carriages. A few bold ones call out, “Good day, Mister Rai!”
Kamal returns their greetings with an indulgent smile, clearly accustomed to the attention.
“To what do I owe this visit, Mister Rai?” she dramatically swoons for good measure, earning an amused smile from the man. “Surely you’re not here to choose a bride from among my classmates.”
He laughs.
“Hardly. I already have enough furious mothers among the Dozen. I’ve no desire to add more to the list.”
She shakes her head, grinning.
“How can one man be so dutiful and yet such a menace to women?”
“It’s a rare skill,” he smirks. “Now come. I’ve no urgent duties today. We’re riding to Jangalmahal for a surprise inspection. Arhat has already saddled your beast. It’ll be faster on horseback.”
Her grin widens at the promise of open fields. A small adventure. Kamal takes her bags without a word, fastening them to his saddle with practiced ease. She mounts Deimos in one fluid motion, excitement buzzing through her.
They ride in companionable silence until the city falls away behind them.
Once the plains open up, Devi loosens the reins and lets Deimos fly. Wind tears through her hair, the world blurring into color and speed. She laughs, exhilarated. Kamal keeps pace effortlessly, his own smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
But as they slow near the mining settlement, her mind drifts back to her classmates’ teasing.
“Kamal,” she says lightly, though her heart thuds strangely, “why haven’t you married yet?”
His brows shoot up, but he doesn’t look away. Instead, he studies her with a startled, almost vulnerable intensity that sends heat crawling up her neck.
The silence stretches, taut and electric. Devi’s mind races for an escape —a joke, any change of subject— but every thought dissolves under the weight of his gaze. She draws in a breath to retreat, and that’s when he finally speaks.
“You’ve heard the stories about me,” he says quietly. “Most of them are true. I was… reckless in my youth. More interested in pleasure than responsibility. But war has a way of upending everything. I found a reason to fight, then. For our people, for freedom. But we failed, lost too many loved ones. I had to take over the family business, raise Amrita. Those duties consumed everything.”
“And now?” she asks, softer than she meant to.
Their eyes meet—and hold.
Something unspoken flickers between them.
Kamal looks away first, clearing his throat.
“Now,” he says, “I have even more responsibilities. Including guiding a stubborn, unruly young lady as she takes control of her family’s legacy. I have less time than ever for marriage.”
“Well,” she quips, aiming for playful but hearing the faint tremor in her own voice, “pardon me for being such a burden.”
He stops his horse. The teasing vanishes from his face.
“Devi,” his voice is low and earnest, “you are not a burden. You are a brilliant, determined young woman and it is an honor to be entrusted with your training. Don’t ever doubt that.”
Heat rushes to her cheeks —not embarrassment, but something far more dangerous.
“Thank you.” she murmurs.
His smile returns, gentler this time.
“Nonsense. Now come, your workers are waiting.”
***Devi***
Kamal stands a little behind Devi as she engages with the superintendent and workers, a reassuring presence as she focuses on the questions she needs to ask, the numbers to be verified.
While she works, Devi can’t help an occasional glance his way.
Kamal watches on. Not critically. Not impatiently.
Proudly.
The realization makes her stomach flutter in a way she refuses to examine too closely.
She straightens her shoulders, forcing herself to concentrate. This is her responsibility now. Her family’s legacy. She wants him to see she can handle it —not because she needs his approval, but because… well. Because it matters. More than it should.
When she finishes speaking with the workers, Devi catches him still looking at her, something unreadable, raw, in his eyes. Heat creeps up her neck. She turns away quickly, pretending to check her notes.
Stop it, she scolds herself. He’s only assessing your progress. Nothing more.
But the way he looks at her sometimes, usually when he thinks she’s not paying attention, makes her wonder.
***Kamal***
He watches her move through the settlement with effortless command. The quiet authority in her voice, the way she asks the right questions, sets the tone, earns respect without having to demand it. Leadership comes to her as naturally as breathing.
He doesn’t have that gift.
Kamal had forged his own authority through years of hard work and discipline, forcing himself to master the responsibilities he’d inherited.
But Devi… she was born for this.
Pride swells in his chest. And with it, a thread of worry.
Because every day, he sees her growing more into herself, into her power. Into a woman who would soon outshine every expectation placed upon her.
And because she looked at him sometimes, in ways she shouldn’t.
He’s not blind. Kamal knows she fancies him. He sees the flickers of warmth, curiosity, something softer lingering when she looks at him. And every time, his own heart betrays him. A quickened pulse, a tightening in his chest, a foolish hope he makes sure to crush before it can ever take shape.
He cannot—will not— allow himself to feel this. She is his charge. His late friend’s little sister.
So he folds his hands behind his back, schooling his expression into something neutral. Respectable.
Safe.
She turns toward him then, cheeks faintly flushed, eyes bright with accomplishment. And for a moment, he forgets to breathe.
Kamal forces a smile — steady, encouraging, nothing more.
Bury it, he tells himself. She deserves your guidance, not your weakness.
