part0048

Arjan hadn’t realized it would be so difficult working with Kripa. He looked like an incapable lout. But Arjan was so wrong, for the first thing he said when he saw the volunteers, was:

“We need a bigger place.”

Bala was the first to recommend Madira’s Chalice. Many had objected for its sinful connotations. “We won’t practice for this sacred mission under a roof owned by an unreligious man,” Devadatta spoke out agitatedly.

Arindam, the owner of Madira’s Chalice, was standing away from the group. He was a volunteer as well, for his own reasons. Arjan had learnt he was part of it because he wanted to save his tavern from being destructed. He knew that if the Commander’s army would race inside the village, things would go downhill as they would massively tax a successful commercial spot like the tavern. But perhaps, there was an ulterior motive, something Arindam hid about himself. Or it could be the fact that he just cared about Shambala like the others. It was hard to believe how people changed and evolved when danger lurked around.

“The Madira’s Chalice is the only place which is big enough to host so many people,” Kalki said, in support. “I don’t go to the place, but it’s good for what we are doing.”

“Add to that, wine and suras for us,” cheered Kripa, who was instantly chastened by Kalki’s frosty glare. It was decided then. The Madira’s Chalice would be their practice ground. But that wasn’t the problem for Arjan, as that was one of the problems solved quickly. What happened after that was the toughest. Arjan never believed himself to be a physically agile person. Regardless of the misadventures with the Mlecchas and the harsh scar he had got out of that, it was his only daring mission. He wanted to protect himself and his people. To him, it made no sense that they were potentially laying down their lives merely to protect some Godly cave. Indravan could go to the dogs, for all he cared! In fact, Kalki was the same like Arjan, about saving humans rather than idols, but somehow something had changed in him.

Arjan couldn’t forget what he had seen. Those weren’t mere human capabilities. No one could survive such an attack. Even a slice against his face hurt till he used herbal creams over it, to rein in the pain. It had died down into this mark that wasn’t going anywhere for now. And it hurt, for people looked at him differently. He wasn’t the same cherub boy anymore.

And yet Kalki’s chest had wounds, but they were healing, faster than an average person’s. Arjan hadn’t read about this kind of regenerative physiology and he had asked Lakshmi, about quick healing, hoping that perhaps she had read something in the city.

“Why would you ask?” she had asked.

Arjan didn’t respond.

“Yes, there have been cases like that, but mostly superstitious,” Lakshmi had said. The answer wasn’t satisfactory.

He would have asked Kalki, in person, for that was the kind of relationship they had with each other. But he was afraid, perhaps of knowing the truth or perhaps of learning something much beyond his own understanding. Arjan’s mind had drifted from all of this. Kripa had shut himself from the liquor, and had gone to the woods, bringing people with him. Arjan was there as well, but Kalki wasn’t. When they had come to the forest, Kripa had said they needed to make a weapon out of these.

Arjan learnt the important tactics of weapon craftsmanship through natural means. The metal and iron weapons that were given by Lakshmi’s aunt would be used by the fit warriors, who knew how to pick up and use the heavy objects. The natural weapons would be more lightweight. Arjan chose something he could shoot from far, as he didn’t want to get into the middle of the battle, but still be productive. Arjan could have chosen to fight in a duel with Keshav Nand, but he didn’t. He chose tactics over brute strength every time.

He chose a bow, and with the use of a kitchen knife, he cut open the bamboo, pulling the two ends back to form a curved back. For the arrow, he carved and sharpened long twigs, making the ends razor sharp.

Lyla had made herself a nice long spear with a blade on each other, wrapped by the thin slices of bark from a tree. Arindam and Agastya had made themselves sling clubs, with a rope on each end attached by a huge rock. They tried spinning it, but they ended up hurting themselves. Roshan Mitra was good at craftsmanship, and through the use of his knife, he crafted each log for people to use as their weapon.

Kripa had said that not everyone should have a weapon, but everyone should have a plan in order to go into battle. “Weapons are incentives, only to be used when absolute necessity. We have to win this war without the weapons.”

Sagar and Maya, brother and sister, got themselves doubled-sided swords. Kripa didn’t have a weapon, per se, but he was burning utensils, and with the mixture of tree sap, zinc and charcoal, he was creating small circular balls. Arjan had walked to him with his bow and a quiver made of jute that held a lot of arrows in it. He had worked hard; his skin felt burnt, his eyes weak and his energy drained.

“What is this?” Arjan asked.

Kripa had been kneeling down. He looked up. “These, mate, are the explosives. One fiery touch and they blow up at least ten of their men or at least, startle them.”

“When are we going to train?”

“In two days, let them first make their weapons. I need to talk to Kalki as well, to see where we can trap the army as we know what side they will be coming from. We need to find a way that’ll choke them, and they would have no other way but to return back.”

The entrance to Shambala had been one way, but it was divided into many uneven paths across the dense forest.

“Where is Kalki?”

“I’ve told him to do his own practice. He needs his alone time.”

“I see.” Suspiciously, Arjan moved from the so-called guru and as he turned back, Kripa was watching him the same way Arjan had regarded Kripa: with doubt.

It was nightfall and he stood at the entrance of the village. It was guarded by a bamboo entrance, but there was no gate. He was standing next to his big brother and his mother, who was carefully positioned on the horse.

“Don’t fall while you leave,” Kalki said with a smile, as he handed her a pot and wrapped up her clothes into a bundle. Sumati carefully draped her cloth. “I don’t want to leave this village at this time, beta. Please, don’t force me.”

Arjan knew she had to go. Kalki knew that as well. They had both lost a parent and they weren’t ready to lose another if they faced turmoil or things went down. Even if they ended up dying due to the war, and the very thought made Arjan shiver, they wanted to die with the thought that they were able to secure the safety of their mother.

“When will you both come see me?” Sumati asked.

“When all of this is over.”

“How long? Tell me the number of days.”

Kalki and Arjan shared a look. “We will let you know soon, and send you a pigeon.”

Sumati watched them in dismay and yet embraced them tightly. “Take care, and fight hard. Make me proud.”

Kalki had teared up, but Arjan remained frozen. “The journey to Badrinath Ashram will be almost four days. Take care.”

“Don’t worry. Just remember, a doubtful mind means you are on the right path. May the Vajra of Indra be with you, children.” Sumati smiled, as she grabbed the reins and moved.