by Kevin Missal
“What?” He massaged his cheek in confusion. “I thought you’ll like me more after this.”
“No, I hate you more. You lied to me. That’s worse. At least, I respected you for telling me you loved someone else. You were a cheater. Now you are a liar.”
He looked at Manasa incredulously. “You know, I will never understand you, Manasa. Never. I pour my heart . . .”
“You lived fearing that my brother could destroy you. But if you had really loved me, you would have fought back.”
“He was the king of Nagas.”
“Well, not anymore, and that’s why you told me. You are such a loser!” She smacked him again on the shoulder.
“Ouch, it hurts.”
“It’s supposed to!” Manasa added angrily. “That’s why I’m hitting you, you idiot!”
An awkward silence steered in the conversation while Manasa looked away. The clear water reflected the blue sky. A gentle breeze was flowing, rustling the leaves on the trees surrounding them. The silence was broken by the boatmen. They were humming a tune. Manasa closed her eyes, humming with them.
She didn’t want to face the pathetic man. She didn’t even want to talk to him anymore. Argh! She hated him more than anything right now . . . but deep down, she still loved him. And that made her feel even more miserable.
Thinking about him would only lead to further crisis, so she looked closely at the boatmen now. Something was off about them. Manasa noticed their knives. They had serpents carved over their hilts—the same design that the soldiers of Naagmandal had on their weapons.
“Listen.” She turned to face Nanda.
“Now what?”
“Where did you get these two?”
“They are farmers.”
“No, they are not,” she whispered.
“What do you mean?”
And that was when one of the boatmen dropped the oar and pulled out the knife.
Instantly, Nanda lurched in front of Manasa, letting the knife pierce his skin. Manasa didn’t retort. She was stunned for a moment. The other boatman made his move. She pulled out a small knife and threw it at the second one as it cleanly sliced his throat, pouring out a gush of blood.
She saw Nanda pulling out the knife from his stomach and plunging it in the belly of the other boatman.
The boatman didn’t resist much and collapsed for a few seconds. But then he stood up, and Nanda fell back, feeling weak as ever. Manasa could see how pale he had turned.
She headbutted the boatman who was coming towards Nanda. He was trying to gather his remaining strength. Rather than attempting to shield himself, he pulled the dagger out and blood splattered across his torso.
She knelt down and grabbed the boatman’s throat, narrowing her gaze. “Who sent you here?”
The assassin smiled. “You shouldn’t care, woman! You are ancient . . .” he began coughing.
“Never call me old. I’m very sensitive about that subject.” She pressed his throat even tighter. “You know I’ve become quite handy when it comes to torturing idiots like you. So tell me now and you will be forgiven.”
“You do not have the power to forgive me. You and your accomplice shall be wiped by the council.”
The council? They ordered the assassinations! That meant they knew that she was going to meet Maruda. They didn’t want her to meet him.
“How do they know about our destination?”
He smiled. It was a self-satisfied grin. “They know your every move.”
“You speak in riddles and you are just irritating me now.” She took the knife that the assassin had tossed aside and stabbed him again. And again. And finally, after three stabs, the assassin lost his slowly ebbing life.
She stood in a pool of blood amongst two corpses and one injured Naga. She walked over to Nanda who was coughing and leaning against the boat. She sat beside him, letting him keep his head on her chest. She then tore off the end part of her gown and wrapped it around his gash.
“I saved you . . . ugh . . . that counts for something, right?” Nanda said, struggling with words.
“Shut up, you.” Manasa patted him on the head. It had been quite long since she had held Nanda so closely.
She looked at the river. The current was steady and the boat could move without the help of oars. But reaching their destination might take a little longer than estimated. Though she also knew that she couldn’t leave Nanda. He would probably fall sleep and if he slept, he would die. She needed to keep him awake.
“I hope Maruda has the first aid to help you get back on your feet.”
“I don’t care.”
Manasa narrowed her eyes. “Why?”
“Because if I die tonight, I will die as I intended—in the arms of the woman I love.”
Manasa couldn’t help but fluster at what he just spoke. Always the petty romantic! His head was down and he couldn’t see her, but she couldn’t help smiling to herself. She liked it. Even though she would never admit this to him.
She had liked everything about the night except for the fact that the two assassins hired by the council had tried to kill her.
“The council is making sure we don’t find the truth. I’m just worried about Kadru.”
Nanda didn’t say anything. Though after a pause, he began, “It’s not the council. The council are a bunch of straightforward scholars and sponsors who live upon the people’s goodwill. It’s bloody Jamun. He wants you dead for what you did to his father.”
“What is our plan then? We know it is Jamun who is doing all of it. What should we do?”
“We convince Maruda to work for us rather than for him.”
“That’s why we are going to meet him? You knew it all along, didn’t you? That it was Jamun?”
“Guilty!” He grinned.
She wanted to smack him again. But then the night was old and so were they. Old and bruised. Not the best time to smack him. I’ll do it some other time.
Initially, she had wanted to take Maruda out of her way. But now, a pact with him was necessary. Or else, she would perish before she could have her revenge.
She woke up to the sound of swords being pulled out of their sheaths. This sound was nostalgic. It reminded her of her father, who used to do this all the time to prepare himself for combat—quickly and readily. If the sheath wasn’t knitted well or the sword won’t come out well, he would tell his weaponsmith to craft it again.
And that was it—the sound. She woke up. It was day and there were no owls hooting, but sparrows flew in the sky. She had slept and she had no idea for how long. She saw Nanda on her side, his face white as a sheet, his eyes closed.
No . . . no . . . I hope he hasn’t died.
She saw his gash and it had darkened. She tried to sway him, when he broke out of his sleep, blinking and looking at her.
“You scared me,” she whispered, finally breathing a sigh of relief.
“I’m scared too,” he sheepishly said.
She couldn’t understand why, when he asked her to look in the front. She now knew where the metallic clangs had originated from. Five Suparns were standing on the boat, one of them pricking the dead Nagas with his sword. Their armour had a flying bird as their emblem. And they had quivers designed like wings. They were so bright and brown-coloured, they looked like that they had golden skin. She turned to see if she was close to the land, if the boat had docked by itself, or perhaps the Suparns had seen the firelights and pulled them closer to their side of the land. There was no clear answer.
“Ah well, what do we have here? A criminal and a washed-out queen,” one of the Suparns said. “Give me one good reason why we shouldn’t slaughter your pretty faces right now.”
Arjan hadn’t thought about the escape plan that he had discussed with Rudra until Vikram asked him about it after their training.
“Are we escaping, fella?”
Arjan didn’t know whether he should tell the fat boy or just keep quiet.
“You don’t need to be silent, fell
a. I heard about it. The word is out. Rudra is planning it with Harsha.”
Harsha? Arjan hadn’t known about that. He had seen Harsha and he was anything but like his name. Harsha seemed sweet when spoken politely to but he was a mammoth—a giant, worse than Rudra. Rudra was tall and sleek, able to justify his serpentine moves with his fit body; Harsha was the opposite. He didn’t move much and others couldn’t move him without his consent. He would just stand there and if someone would come in front of him, he’ll just smack them on their faces. Rudra was the brains and, one could say, Harsha was the brawns behind all of it.
Wrestling in the prison was just a word no one believed in, really. Sure, it was called wrestling and many a times Arjan had to train to fight, but all it was, was cheap entertainment. It depends on what the audience wants. Sometimes, they just wanted to see some petty bloodshed and the idea of blood just twisted the insides of Arjan’s stomach.
He had seen enough blood in the battle of Shambala and he had been sure he won’t have to see it anymore, but he had been wrong. Every day, something or the other was broken in his body and his nose was now smashed. He had to wear a bandage around his face and some might say with the scar and this contraption, he looked quite dangerous, and not a boy from a village.
“He doesn’t like ya much, fella,” Vikram said. “Don’t know why, though.”
“Harsha?”
“Yeah.”
“Why doesn’t he like me?”
“I don’t know; mistrust probably.”
Arjan rolled his eyes. “How did you know about the plan?”
“Oh, everyone does. They all want to escape. Word on the street is that we will flee during one of our night practice sessions.”
“Do you know when they’ll do it?”
“Oh hell! If I knew, I’ll be ready, fella, but I don’t know. They are being quite secretive about it.”
Arjan nodded. Vikram was in the dark, so was Arjan. He was not interested in carrying out the conversation anymore. He turned over and lay his head close to the ground as he thought about the escape. Was it idiotic to even escape or was it sheer genius? Sure, it would be lovely to escape from here and go out and find Kalki or go to Bajrang’s temple and meet his mother. He could think of endless things to do once he got out of this wretched place. The idea of escape slowly began to form well. He had done it once and he could do it again. He was ready.
And that was when the footsteps became clear. It was night and through the rails, he could see the dark skies devoid of stars. Who would come at this time?
Arjan turned and also saw other inmates breaking from their slumber. They finally realized that a Manav soldier had come, armed with a spear. There was another person who accompanied him and they stopped right in front of Arjan’s cell.
“What is the meaning of this?”
They opened the cell and without even asking, roughly pulled him out. Knobbing the spear right at his spine, they made sure he walked silently.
“What are you doing? Where am I going?” Arjan cried.
But none of his words were responded to. He walked in confusion to find other inmates sticking themselves close to the cell gates to watch Arjan—some with suspicion and some with pity. He even got a chance to exchange glances with Rudra, who blinked with a worrisome expression.
“Where am I headed?” he asked the Manav soldier again, whispering this time, his voice defeated.
“To Lord Kali’s quarters,” the soldier responded with a raspy breath.
Arjan realized that Kali’s room didn’t resonate with the person he was. It looked quite ordinary—it was devoid of any devil horns and thorns and fire. They all joked about it in prison, about how Kali epitomizes the idea of evil. Everyone hated Kali in some way or the other. Kali’s room was quite simple—with hardbound books, a table, a chair, fire lamps that lighted the place up, and nice granite flooring. A window was at the back from where the prison could be seen.
Fortunately, the prison and Kali’s fort were close by so Arjan didn’t have to walk much.
Kali was sitting on a chair, whistling as he read a book. He had gone bald and he had the same wispy golden eyes that pierced through the darkness. Shadows danced over his chalky skin and there was a hint of beauty about him that indicated that he was once a handsome man, but there was no trace of his old self anymore. He looked a dilapidated version of himself.
The soldiers left Arjan and didn’t care to bind his hands since they knew that Kali could singlehandedly beat Arjan with ease—now that he had gotten hold of the Somas and could use it to overpower him.
“Where is your crown?” Arjan asked.
He smiled. “I gave it away to a man in need. A hermit, perhaps.” He had a way of speaking, as if he was amusing himself with each word he spouted.
“Why am I here?”
“You are so direct.” He manically watched him. “I wanted to ask you something, and that’s why I called you.”
Arjan gritted his teeth. What would he want to ask a prisoner like him? Though Arjan had noticed that Kali had always taken interest in him for some reason—perhaps because Arjan was Kalki’s brother, the man Kali hated.
“Do you think I’ve gone mad?” he ended with a husky laughter to his own question.
And he’s asking me if he’s mad. Arjan wanted to roll his eyes, but surely it would look disrespectful. He remained silent, though it didn’t mean he had no answer to the question. He did. Kali surely had gone mad, but his madness wasn’t exactly a day’s affair. It was escalating. Slowly.
“You can speak your mind. I’ve already tortured you enough, boy.” His eyes softened. “I just want to know the answer from a third party.”
“I believe then . . .” Arjan gulped down his nervousness, “you were always mad. You just chose to show it now.”
“And why is that?”
“Why would you show it now, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“I suppose because you stopped caring.”
He clapped his hands instantly. “Absolutely! You are right. I stopped caring. For some reason, the Somas really made me want to not pay attention to someone else, as if they all were underneath me.”
“I understand.”
“You know, Arjan, even though I do things that might seem extreme to other people, I still feel kind of unhappy. No one knows what I went through. No one knows why I behave the way I behave. They choose to see me now, the way I am, but they don’t see who I was. I wasn’t always like this. You are a brother to someone. I was a brother as well.” His eyes wandered in the empty space as he thought deeply about what he was going to say, choosing his words carefully.
“I was a bad brother because I couldn’t save him. He was a few months old, the only other boy amongst my siblings. I had a few siblings, all were girls and he was the one boy who I couldn’t save. Do you know why he was burnt to death?”
“No, I don’t know.”
“Because of Tribal conflicts. There was a battle, unimportant as it may seem, between two Tribals. My entire village was razed to the ground and many Manavs died there. And all I could do was escape with Durukti. I left my siblings to die. Do you know why? Because of petty Tribal politics. We are all uncivilized monsters, destroyers. We are not ready to be governed by each other. We need someone to show the way. That’s why we believe in the puny religion—something to look up to.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “And that’s why I rose from being an orphan to a king, because you see, I wanted to make sure nothing like this would ever happen again. That no child, mother, or father would live to see their loved ones conquered by death because of politics. And I tried my best. I thought the Tribals could live amongst each other, but that also didn’t happen. They began to consume each other and I had to be the king, the sole ruler, because you see . . . we need someone supreme ruling over us or we will end up eating each other alive.”
Gods, he makes sense.
“How do you know you are fit to be the supreme power?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, I don’t. I’ll be honest. I hate it but people enjoy this sort of entertainment and I’m not wrong to give them that.”
“At the expense of a human life?”
“Oh come on, you are all killers and kidnappers and betrayers and it’s not like I’m picking up civilians from the streets to fight,” he scoffed. “I say all of this, Arjan, because I have a plan. No matter how crazy and unpredictable I can be, I always have a plan to sustain my life a little longer. So, when I hear . . .” Kali walked and stood dangerously close to Arjan, so close that Arjan could feel Kali’s breath on his face, “that a bunch of idiotic prisoners are planning an escape, I feel it’s a threat to my plans.”
Arjan’s blood ran cold. He does he know? The word is getting out, Vikram had said. Gods save us. Kali has his spies within the prisoners?
“I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“Sheesh, I think you do know, but it’s all right. I know you won’t partake in it since you won’t be stupid enough to do it again. You’ll fail miserably as I hold the administration of the prison under my thumb.”
Arjan nodded in dread.
“Who are they?” His face turned placid, his voice callous. “I know you know the names, so just give them to me.”
“I said I don’t know what you are talking about.”
Kali sighed. “What if I grant you freedom from the prison in return for this information?”
Arjan’s eyes lit up with shock. Will he really ? He was just thinking a few moments back how he would like to go everywhere once he left this place.
“Ah yes, I got your attention, didn’t I? Well, tell me then and I shall approve your release.”