setting.sudrien.net

Continuing from https://setting.sudrien.net/2025/06/a-peredharna-engagement/

Shimla, by intent, is always cool. Summer capitol on of the old Raj, it was meant to counter the malaise of lower elevations. It was to be like summing in the alps – civilization in an out of the way place – even though the geography lacked mountain valleys free of the threat of flood. The Himalaya were not the alps – they had monsoons to hold back.

Samvrita was sure the convent, in some form, predated the city. This made a bit more sense; sure, people lived in this year long cold, but it seemed more a place to flee to than to seek. Though – the British came from a cold place. Perhaps it matched somthing in their hearts.

She tried to take her time from the hotel. Maybe letting herself run would be refreshing, but she couldn’t help but see herself tumbling from was not a cliff – just an incline almost al long as inclines got in this part of the world. If not for that … she could imagine why the great runners of the world came from mountains. She hoped some day for a breath drawing in more than the most rarefied of airs.

It was better to walk and make sure she saw where she was going, even if she arrived there chilled.

~

The convent hidden behind the temple had only one thing different than yesterday – the goat-woman – no. It was bad form to reduce her to that. Miss Floras was sitting on the roof line, waving for attention as soon as she had seen the PI spot her. Samvrita wondered if she had clambered out of a window to watch – but no, she easily walked down the tired wall, confirming the ability mentioned earlier. It was rough enough that Samvrita might be able to scale it like a mountain climber – but the nun kept her hands at her sides the whole way down, like taking the stairs.

“You sound like a horse clopping along.”

“Why – oh. Sorry, uh. Steel toed shoes. got used to them on the force,” she lied – they were steel soled, out on necessity, “They’re that loud?”

“It’s a quiet road. Everything that can echo does.”

“Maybe I’m just used to the sound. Uh – this is the sweater from the original passport photo, isn’t it?”

“I though it might be helpful -“

“It might be begging the question, but we can make it work. It’s alright for you to be seen in public without your… robes?”

“The habit? It’s fine. I’m not representing Our … The Lord here. I did think packing the veil – hat – might be helpful.”

“Noted. Are we calling a car then, or…?”

~

“One stupid question” it was a small taxi, fit to zoom off mountain roads and burst into flames at the bottom, “Peredharna. That’s not the word for theft – Haraṇa – is it?”

“There’s sort of a debate on that. ‘Pered’ is definately supposed to be Saint Petroc of Wales, though there’s no surviving evidence he actually made it this far inland-“

“Whales are…”

“Oh, British Isles, if you prefer. UK. “

“Ok. Continue.”

“The church, the convent have been destroyed several times. Fire, landslide – yet we keep hanging it off a mountain. The current building had Russian and Persian inspirations, I don’t know if that’s because it’s where the money came from. Orthodox seems to like uncertainty more the Catholic.”

“I wouldn’t know about that-“

“Of course, of course. Even if it is the Sanskrit Haraṇa, that does not, on it’s own, identify what is being taken. It could refer to it’s previous child sanctuary status – before my time – or the removal of sin, or maybe some miracle we no longer know anything about, maybe it was just another village he helped build up like on his home island, with a church. All we can be sure of being taken is, eventually, some wolves. I mean, that’s the saint’s story.”

“Are your holy people’s stories any more reliable than ours?”

“I doubt it. I mean people try, but people also wait a long time to write stories down when they do it by hand. Even if what’s left is factually correct – what’s left is a shadow of what was.”

~

The Shimla Foreigners Registration Office was still in the Police headquarters of Shimla – as it always had been. Merely the definition of foreigner had changed.

Before a final zigzag of a road, Meg started laughing “HAH, the sign says ‘cum’.”

It was perhaps a four storied structure, beige stone and a indecisively blue roof, a place so full of breakable windows there was a police box standing outside of it. Experience said the quickest way to continue was to approach the guard with the right bearing, ask “FRO entrance?” – and a quick point and swipe gave the fastest outer stairway route. A quick nod of thanks – the kind that remembers how the hat is supposed to be seated – and they bypassed a dozen “not an exits”.

It had been a busier place once – a bigger place, though online registration had not drained the place of all it’s use. An obsessive amount of wood paneling, large desks surrounded by small desks to show a clear pecking order – a little nicer than the offices Samvrita was used to, but this was not the office where a fight might break out. Fireplaces, even, though given over to radiator coils.

~

A senior inspector was doing the interview. Samvrita, despite herself, was too tired to keep the name in her mind without looking at the name plaque at the desk – and besides, besides including it if a final ‘thank you and goodbye’, a ‘Sir’ would suffice at most points. While it was possible this man would want to trip up Megara – or the Associate Superintendent observing the interview – it was more her job at the moment to sniff out any traps of language or protocol, intentional or not.

The Inspector seemed fine with a digital recorder – the AEP quickly called in an office girl to take notes. As she set up, the Inspected gave a pointed sigh in her direction – and she gave a silent shrug in response.

~

“While it seems your entry papers were largely in order – there was never any screening. In fact, it appears the on-site screener refused, which I find unusual in proximity to the recent pandemic.” The Inspector continued.

“Miss Floras has been in the country for most of a year without indecent, largely in seclusion. At this point I would think even if she were sick, it would be from a local source,” Samvrita quickly put forward.

“This is true?”

“I have spent most of my time in the past year on the Paredharna grounds, if not inside the convent.”

“It would be… understandable, given your appearance. You are currently in good heath?”

“Yes.”

“You would be willing to submit to a medical check now, or in the near future, if requested?”

“Of course.”

The ASP gave a dry cough. Samvrita tried to analyze the tone. This was not the issue. Move on.

“Your fingerprint sheet – of which I have a copy – was also flagged,” the Inspector pulled a small photocopy out of the folder – ten boxes, currently crowded with three fingerprints each.

“Would you like to take another set to compare, sir? I do not believe Miss Floras came dressed for this, but she could remove her sweater if needed.”

“Her sweater?”

Meg was already starting to pull up her sweater – Samvrita wanted to stop her, but could only hope that her client had actually prepared for this.

It couldn’t be called skin at all. Fur – matted, with a definite sheen, and slightly pulling up with bit of static attraction.

The inspector had started to push back his chair to get up – maybe try and stop her – but instead, seeing the first hint of a bra – started to give a description for his recorder. “Miss Megra Floras has … two additional pairs of arms she apparently normally keeps hidden in public. Hair covered up to mid forearm – heavy ruddy complexion and black fingernails for all of them. Her… actual bust size is much smaller than her usual appearance, with arms folded I presume? Yes, than with lower arms folded would suggest. Yes would you please turn so I could see your back? Top shoulderblades are a little high, and ere repeated in a smaller version to about the sternum level. Uh. Yes, please do be seated,” The inspector turned back in his chair, “Sir?”

The ASP seemed less surprised, or better at hiding it. he stroked his chin for a moment, “Three sheets, Labeled Upper 1/3, Middle, lower.”

“Right, uh, Observing officer has recommended multiple clearly distinguished prints,” The desk, apparently frequently being used for such interviews, had a drawer with extra forms on hand – meant for separate people who struggled to get a clear print, but that’s what the remarks field was for. Samvrita, familiar with procedure, offered to and was allowed to do the actual inking and printing, the fields filled with impeccable handwriting.

The secretary was instructed to take some “official” photos of the arm configuration in the hall – alone, Samvrita quickly found out she was not a secretary proper – this was the woman’s supposed promotion from a street job. Assistant to the ASP. Samvrita held her tongue in commiserating.

Returning to the office, the door was closed and the two were in a quiet discussion. The former policewoman offered them seats when her knock went unacknowledged.

Samvrita, even in the relative quiet of the FRO, couldn’t make out words, but tried to match the voices. The inspector is more uncertain. Not scared, but… ambitious, maybe? He had been too professional to he a hard Hindutva, maybe it was ambition. He saw a thread to pull. Peredharna, Peredharna. What sort of organization invites someone like that without ambitions to USE them somehow? The ASP was more cautious. Of course, he might have had more exposure to the convent. Certainly more than Samvrita had had. Possibly with SAMMARA. This was not evidence of anything.

She wasn’t really hearing them anymore. Having donned the sweater again, Meg had pulled out a necklace and was chanting something – Was that Greek? I certainly wasn’t English. She was counting off beads an the necklace.

Samara glanced up at the police woman. She was staring at Meg. Cautious. Drawing back the slightest bit.

No, they weren’t talking in the office anymore. there was a bump on the glass, and the outline of one … no, two ears pressed against the doors’ glass window at slightly different heights.

Oh. OH. She could work with this.

There was a single cross on the necklace. Before Megara could get to it, Samvrita quickly stood up and knocked loudly on the door – as if not seeing the ears pressed against it. This interrupted the prayer, as she had hoped, but also led to some bumping inside the office – the Inspector opening the door, the ASP sitting down.

The police woman hurried in after Sammara – her body language definitely being “don’t leave me out there with her”.

Samvrita and Megara resumed their seats, after the later made a quick motion to finish the prayer quickly than at it’s proper timing.

The inspector was an affected pleasant. “Ah, um. What was that.” English.

“Prayer. Obviously.” Samvrita answered in Hindi, “I do not think she should be kept here much longer.”

The whole conversation had been in English to this point. Megara glanced between faces apprehensively, understanding what had been said perfectly, but unsure of why the switch had been made.

“You called her here for an approval, did you not? As soon as she gets it I can take her back to the temple where she will be seen to.” Still hindi. Explain nothing. Let them put together their assumptions.

It was a long moment. “OK. I think we can call this case done. I don’t think a medical inspection is needed at this point.” The ASP was looking the slightest bit pale.

The Inspector nodded. There were things to initial, but that could wait. A big stamp of approval was all that was needed for the moment. They didn’t offer their hands for handshakes as they said goodbye – and the police woman was a much a sheepdog herding them from the office as a professional.

“What was that?” Megara blinked back in the sunlight.

“Either that was avoiding a curse, or that was answering a prayer. I’d assume the latter.”