by Kevin Missal
Kripa’s mouth twisted in a grimace. “Yeah, whatever. Now to answer both your questions, Simhas aren’t exactly cannibals. I mean they eat animal meat, but they never eat humans.”
“So, what are they?” Padma blinked.
Kripa just realized something and Kalki could notice his uneven reaction. “Ah, you won’t like the answer . . .”
That was when Kripa got interrupted. Darooda Simha and his friends came over and dragged the sulking Kalki to the side as he resisted with all his might. Then they did the same with all the captives, one by one.
The Simhas tied their legs and dragged them out of the cave to hook them onto the horses— Kalki’s horses. Kalki couldn’t believe what was happening. The harsh sun was beating down on their faces. Darooda sat on the horse while his friends did the same with the rest. Padma and Kripa were tied to the second horse, and the bald-headed girl with her friends was tied to the third.
They are taking us somewhere. But where?
Darooda excitedly beat his chest as they moved on. Kalki had to face the onslaught of pebbles, stones, and the dust, as his face rubbed against the surface.
It can’t be worse than this.
Kalki could feel he was somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be. The surface had now turned into pastures with leaves and twigs pricking his skin. Though it was a welcome sight after the dust. His friends were groaning. Kalki felt like resting in his bed and slumbering for just about forever, but he couldn’t afford that luxury.
He could hear the mumbles of Darooda while he closed his eyes and thought about Narsimha—the majestic lord of the Simhas who had lived before the Mahayudh, before the Breaking, before Lord Raghav. He dwelt on the fifth Avatar, whom he had learnt about in the gurukul.
Kripa was right. He was not ready to fight. The only option was to learn how to defeat a Simha from another Simha.
He began to use his Channelling powers, trying to gather his focus as much as he could, while being distracted by the occasional thud from hitting into rocks and dirt. His hair had turned greasy, but he didn’t care. The extraneous distractions evaporated and he let go of the reality that he was living in. His arms slowly began to loosen up and he opened his eyes.
He was in a forest.
It reminded him of the outskirts of Shambala—the lush greenery and the whisper of the birds. There was also the smell of oranges and apples.
Kalki turned to see a strange, fair-skinned man. He was as tall as Kalki, and had a lion-skinned fur over his entire body. Long nails were protruding on his fingers, and upon a closer look, Kalki realized they weren’t nails but claws. They had been fashioned out of blades and wood in such a way that they seemed wearable.
He could not help but be enthralled by the ingenious invention.
Kalki had known from Bhargav Ram, during one of his Channelling sessions, that he could use the power of Channelling and converse with the memories of the other Avatars. But they would be limited and wouldn’t go far. There was little time. Kalki had to ask Lord Narsimha now.
“My lord,” Kalki began, “I need your help.”
Lord Narsimha turned and Kalki saw his heavy beard that covered his face. His beady eyes reminded Kalki of a lion. He had hair over his chest. The way he watched Kalki, the aura around him was making Kalki’s knees go weak.
“What do you want?” he asked.
Kalki thought of the question—how to kill a Simha? Now that seemed stupid to ask from the Simha legend.
“I have been kidnapped by your kind.”
“Must be a good reason for it,” he guffawed.
He was quite civilized for a Simha, which made Kalki realize what they had become now. But his sarcasm was something that Kalki didn’t appreciate.
“How do I defeat the worshippers of the lion?”
“You cannot. We are indestructible.”
Perhaps, the image of Lord Narsimha is of the past—full of pomp and self-confidence. Kalki knew that Narsimha was unaware of their eventual fate. The Simhas were eventually trampled and destroyed. Kalki had to ask for the solution in a different way.
“I know about you, Nar.” Kalki came forward, his chest heaving. “You saved Prahlad from his own father.”
Narsimha’s eyes softened at the name of ‘Prahlad’.
“You helped an Asura’s son. Why would you do that?”
He closed his eyes, sighing. “Because I believe the sins of a father do not follow posterity.” He paused, eyeing Kalki with deep interest. “It’s always amusing when I think about how I ended up defeating Hiranyakashipu.”
“How did you do it?”
“By anticipating his behavioural patterns. To defeat your enemy, you must first think like your enemy.”
And then the image dissolved. He was back, his head grazing the ground and his mouth filling with dirt. He turned around to see that he was in a forest, with little to no sunlight. They were enveloped in darkness.
To defeat your enemy, you must first think like your enemy.
He knew what he had to do.
He began to convulse and mumble and groan as much as he could. Darooda stopped his horse and looked quizzically at Kalki. He got down from the horse and walked over to Kalki as the current Avatar kept fidgeting in the place, toppling, letting the leaves brush against his nose harshly.
Darooda knelt and took off the wrap-around from Kalki’s mouth. “Big man, what?” he questioned.
Kalki knew what he had to do. He began speaking gibberish, hooting, mumbling, and shouting to distract Darooda, and then he improvised. Darooda responded to it enthusiastically because this was Darooda’s way of communication. It made Darooda feel that Kalki was the same kind.
“What are you doing?” Kripa yelled.
Kalki wanted to shut him up. He kept hooting and soon it was followed by Darooda grinning and hooting back at him. Even Darooda’s friends began to behave the same way.
Kalki showed his grip where he was tied, asking him to open it. Darooda grinned, nodding, and began to use his nails to tear it apart.
Very good.
Kalki made faces. He showed his gritted teeth and beat his chest, while he lay upside down from the horse. He had to find the opportunity to now grab Darooda’s feet and topple him. As soon as his hands were free, he was going to untie his legs help his companions out and attack the other two Simhas.
While all the planning was being rushed in his mind, Kalki realized that Darooda had turned silent, as if he had just realized something. Kalki’s blood went cold as Darooda’s dead eyes watched Kalki for a moment before he collapsed on the ground.
And that was when his plan began to falter as Kalki’s sight fell on a simple dart that had pierced Darooda’s back. Soon, two other darts were stuck across the other two Simhas who fell from their horses.
What in the heavens?
Kalki pushed himself forward as he began to untie the knot that bound him to the horse and finally when he did so, he heard footsteps—silent and scary. He turned around, but tripped in the process. Strange-inked men emerged from the shadows with just rags covering their bodies—they had long hair till their knees, and were armed with flutes which were being used to spit the darts.
Soon, he found other kind of individuals jumping over the branches and logs of the trees, travelling like monkeys.
Kalki slowly moved towards Kripa who was just grinning to himself. “Simhas were never cannibals. They were scavengers. They got what they could and gave it to someone in return for weapons or whatever they required.”
“So who are they?” Kalki’s eyes widened, his pupils dilating. He didn’t like the smell that came from these inked men.
“The ones Simhas were employed to.”
“Why did they kill them if they were their employees?”
“I suppose, mate, they had served their purpose.”
“Who are they ?” Kalki gritted his teeth. The men were circling them now, baring their yellow teeth.
“Oh, they?” Kripa gulped while Padma roll
ed her eyes, exhausted from the time Kripa took in responding. “They are . . . well . . . they are called Pisach.”
“Pisach?” Kalki had heard the name somewhere. They were uncivilized creatures that lived close to the cremation grounds. That’s what the teachers at gurukul had taught him, but then seeing them right in front of him wasn’t exactly pleasant.
“Yes. And one more thing.”
“Yeah?” Kalki was running through several ideas to fight these Pisach now, but he had no weapons. He fidgeted in anticipation of the darts that might be shot at them any moment.
“They are definitely cannibals.”
It made sense now why Darooda had referred to Kalki and his companions as food. They were not food to him, but to the Pisach. Kalki flared his nostrils as he looked at the Pisach, and was close to surrendering again . . . this time to be eaten for sure.
Jamun was a vile, vile man.
As Manasa waited in the dimmest of nights for Nanda to bring his boat, she thought of Jamun. She had glanced at him leaving the council chambers when she had gone to meet Kadru. Kadru had been talking to Jamun, surely out of necessity since Jamun was an influential sponsor for the army. He fed and clothed them, and provided money for weapons as well. Kadru had to entertain Jamun. He had become an important part of the council.
That only complicated things more.
If Jamun had been cunning enough to trap a snake like Kadru, she would have to do whatever she could to stop him. And Jamun had hated Vasuki, which meant he had hated Manasa. Her father and Jamun’s father had been rivals. The rivalry had ended when the former had killed the latter’s army. It was a settlement, but a dirty one. Surely, the battle had been concluded with a truce, but revenge is always at the back of the mind and is ready to bite you with poison the moment you turn away.
Jamun’s father had gotten his revenge by killing Manasa’s father. Before Vasuki and Manasa fought through the ranks to get the throne back, this was still a precarious situation. Once Vasuki ascended the throne, Jamun had been allowed to live.
Vasuki, however, had beheaded Jamun’s father right in front of his son.
Since then, Jamun remained cordial and political while hiding his true ambitions.
“We should have killed him,” Manasa said to Vasuki. “One day, he would return to end us all.”
“If we remain strong, he won’t. Jamun is in no way related to the bloodshed his father started,” Vasuki responded.
“But what if he does? We killed his father . . .”
“Nagas don’t believe in emotions, my dear.” Vasuki had a perfect grin, his blue eyes shimmering against the lake that was in front of them. “If they did, you would be weeping right now for Father, but you aren’t. You are thinking of murdering someone. And the turmoil doesn’t show on your face.”
Manasa thought for a while. “We have to keep Jamun busy then. Content, yes. We cannot show ourselves as weak. This may be a bad political move and it’ll worsen if we don’t have a strong hold on the situation.”
“Don’t worry. We will never go weak. And it’s not a bad political move because we need Jamun and his money. He holds more money than the bloody treasury—pros of having an ancestor who had built the Sheesha temple. That’s the place he gets all his wealth from.” Vasuki rolled his eyes.
“Do not worry, it’ll be fine.”
Manasa’s mind raced back to the present. And she smirked. It had been foolish of Vasuki to let Jamun live. She will have to constantly watch her back now.
The boat arrived and she saw him in all his glory. Nanda stood tall and firm with his jet black hair and the charming wisp of a smile. He had brought a wooden cane with him. The boat was made of rigid papyrus reeds, with two men using oars to steer it towards the place where Manasa was standing.
“Well, you look classy,” Nanda grinned.
Manasa shrugged, stepping on the boat when she slipped a little only to be held by Nanda. She grimaced and went in a corner, feeling like a klutz already. The boatmen began to steer, while Nanda came forward and sat next to Manasa.
“It’s an all-night journey. I hope you don’t ignore me throughout our journey, my love. There’s no one to talk to anyway.”
“You have no right to call me me ‘your love’, Nanda.” Manasa flared her nostrils at the idiot. “You lost that privilege a long time ago.”
Nanda sighed. “You have always been difficult.”
She surely had been, but her husband used to be a man of crime. She had tried to sober him, get him away from the Suras and the gambling, but he had eventually found trouble. It had been the last straw when he had cheated on her. She didn’t know who the other woman was, but she didn’t care. He had done it and that was all that had mattered.
“I hope I don’t get killed during this journey.”
“You won’t. I’ll protect you.” Nanda seemed sincere.
“I would end up protecting you, believe me.” Manasa scoffed.
“What’s your problem?”
“Nothing.”
“Oh, please.”
Manasa turned her head to see the moon and the stars. Even though the night was romantic, nothing else was. She was with the most unromantic person.
“Who is the chief of that Suparn camp?”
“Maruda.”
She turned instantly, gritting her teeth. “Maruda?” She had recently learnt a lot about Maruda. “What is he doing so close to the camp?”
“That’s what we are going to find out.”
“You did business with Maruda over gooseskin?”
“What can I say? These birds love it!”
Maruda had been okay with doing business with a Naga?
The only reason why the Suparns had been staunch rivals of the Nagas was because of their fight over an exotic plant. She brushed away her wandering thoughts. The more she mulled over the strained history, the more she would be detracted from her mission. The battle had been going on for so long that reconciliation didn’t seem like a solution anymore.
“Maruda is the man who killed my brother’s family.”
“Ah well, we are going to figure out why.”
“What if he sees me and kills me as well?”
“He won’t.”
“How are you so sure?”
He played with his lips. “Because he owes me. He still hasn’t paid for the gooseskin, you know.” He smirked.
“It’s not funny. He can kill you and the payment is done.”
“It’s not that simple. The Suparn tribe could be vengeful, even crazy but its people are not backstabbers.”
She was going straight into the heart of trouble and she didn’t like it.
“Ah, Manasa?”
“Hmmm?”
“Since the night is so lovely, I have a confession to make.”
“Confession?” She turned to face him, surprised. “What sort of confession are we looking at?” Even though she didn’t want to take this conversation forward, she was leaning forward, wondering whathe was about to reveal. There was something about Nanda; he had a way of getting inside your skin and cozying there.
“A really honest one,” he responded.
“Tell me.”
“See, I think this is the right time to tell you.”
“Go on.”
“I am, uh . . .”
“You are getting married again to that wench?”
“That’s what I want to talk about.”
Her heart sunk and she didn’t know why. Her heart shouldn’t sink, since she didn’t love Nanda anymore. “Okay . . .”
“There was never any other girl.”
“What do you mean?”
“It was a lie.”
“You told me to my face that you wanted to end things because you liked someone younger and I was an old woman you couldn’t take care of.”
“It was all a lie. You are the most beautiful old woman I know.” He chuckled softly. “And it was a lie to get rid of you.”
“Why did you want to g
et rid of me?”
“Because of your brother. He forced me to.”
Is this one of his lies? She really looked at him, hoping to find a hint of insincerity but found none. “I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t have to. I hid this truth for the sake of your brother. You must believe I have never been a good man, right? I mean I always pledged myself to doing something absurdly ridiculous. Then, I found you. I was having the most wonderful time of my life with you, and then your brother stepped in. He wanted my help.” He sighed, trying to recall, choosing his words carefully. “He was leaving for Kali’s campaign against the Manavs and he chose me to do something stupid—he told me to loot Lord Sheesha’s temple.”
Manasa couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Surely Vasuki wasn’t always the most religious person but telling her husband to loot a temple was just preposterous.
“There’s a reason why he had tasked me with this job. He wanted to take away whatever little power Jamun had. So I took some of my men and went there one night. Apparently, Jamun knew about the attack. And he guarded the place all night. We fought and we lost, and we scampered back. I did all of this for Vasuki’s happiness and also because of the money. I told him I lost my men and I wanted some coins for compensation. He refused. He said he would destroy my life by putting me in prison if I ever ask for money or utter a word about it. He was so frantic that he even told me to leave Naagpuri which meant leaving you, because he thought I’ll be a threat to him if I stayed here. f the word had gotten out about him ordering an attack on the temple, it would have lead to a rebellion. He didn’t kill me, perhaps, because I was your husband, but there was bad blood already. I wanted to kill him. Unable to take it anymore, I left the place to have a new beginning.”
“You left because of my brother’s conniving plans?”
“Yes.”
“There was no other girl?”
“None whatsoever. Hell, I’ve never liked anyone after you. It was always you, Manasa. Always. And because of your stupid brother, we had been forced to separate.”
Manasa didn’t know what to feel, but she had a sudden urge to slap him. She looked at him for a few seconds, and then smacked him right across his cheek. “You broke my heart again.”