Durukti had travelled from Indragarh to Shambala and it had not been an easy ride. The chariot she had travelled in had been tough. The tents were erected for rest, but it was uneven and rocky, with the sound of wild animals keeping her awake for the better part of the night.
And all this while, she had talked to Chief Martanja, the paramilitary leader of the Rakshas. Unlike other Rakshas, he wasn’t so tall and daunting. He had calm and a soft-spoken exterior. Durukti had all these kinds of notions about Rakshas. They were unclean, dirty and mortifying. But many of her notions had been cleared when she met them in real life.
She could still recall how she was old enough to see Lord Raktapa and Kali’s deal. Unlike others who didn’t know how that had happened, Kali had taken help from the Dakshinis, who had even given the gift of a ship to travel to Eelam and have a rich discussion with Raktapa. It had taken him a month and a lot of promises by Kali to finally let the Rakshas come on the plains of Illavarti.
Raktapa was a calm person, which was surprising for Durukti, who always imagined the Rakshas to be violent. They were, in fact great believers of Lord Shiva and had a protected Temple, deep in the cold regions to the north of Eelam, where they would undertake a pilgrimage every year. Unlike some theories, Eelam wasn’t the hottest place to live. Sun killed the skin, sure, but at night the winds from the sea would soothe too. And during winters, which she had experienced while staying in Eelam, there was even snow. Raktapa had said that their bodies weren’t dark because of the heat, but because of their heritage. They had been born like this, since time immemorial.
Chief Martanja reminded her of Raktapa a lot. He had a carefree smile and a noble, broad face, with a Trishul-shaped pendant hanging around his neck. But the most noticeable feature about him was his left eye. It was stitched shut and had healed now, the skin over it having peeled back. It showed Martanja had faced death from close.
When they were in the tent, examining the map of Shambala, it was then that Durukti had asked him: “I thought your men don’t wear a symbol and yet you wear something to worship to Lord Shiva.”
“We don’t tell we love Lord Shiva. All this ink on your arms, the golden plate in the name of lords, it’s all just flimsy to us, my lady. We aren’t like that. We are true believers and this…” he signalled at his chest, thumping it then with a grin. “This is our symbol. Not even this pendant, for this is just a token given by my mother. Lord Shiva is in our hearts, our soul. Not in any materialistic sense.”
Durukti was impressed by the Brahmarakshas. The Brahmarakshas were the chiefs, mostly who were Brahmins by birth and were of the Rakshas tribe, the most learnt and the most affluent, the most skilled of them all. When killed, the Brahmarakshas’ title would be passed on to other chiefs like Martanja.
When they had reached close to Shambala, Martanja could figure out the state of the.
“My lady, it is surprising no one is there, it’s empty.”
“They must be hiding,” she said, but her voice was drowned by the breeze blowing against the ferns, and the other Rakshas continuously training, clanging their iron spears, tossing and swinging their javelins. Durukti scanned the many red tents and horses. Symrin was right behind her, afraid, almost clutching to her robe.
They were so close to Soma and yet so far. They couldn’t attack just like that. With no army to face, they couldn’t enter. That would be a shame and tarnish to the image of the Rakshas, who fought in valiance and in self-defense only.
Martanja sent two men around to scout. They waited by the fire, as the poached bear roasted. They ate that till the scouts came back on their horses.
“Chief, half of them are close to the caves and half of them are preparing for archery. They have some kind of explosives too. They also happen to be hiding, some of them, in a local tavern,” the scout said.
Martanja, eating the roast bear, just nodded.
Durukti shot Symrin a look, who was feeding on beans. “You told me they didn’t have an armoury?”
Symrin looked down in disappointment. Already exhausted, she didn’t have her usual smart quips.
“We don’t need iron for swords. Back in the South, we practiced with only bamboo, stronger than the bloody iron if you ask me, my lady,” Martanja quipped thoughtfully. “The estimate says there are almost five hundred members and we can’t attack them at once. It’ll be a foolish move and something that’ll attract attention of your brother and the other Tribal Lords, my lady. We both don’t want that as we need to do this discreetly.”
Durukti nodded. “I don’t want a bloodbath here. Shambala is an important village for Indragarh and Lord Vedanta would despise my brother and me if I choose to tarnish the image. But we also need to win.”
“We can do so by honor, my lady. The best fighter from each side could come forth and battle. Whoever wins will have free access to execute their plan.”
Durukti thought for a while. That did made sense.
“I don’t expect a lot from them, but they are preparing. Surely, we will be attacked preemptively if we don’t send out a message. I don’t want to lose my men.” He sounded like a hired mercenary. Durukti had paid him a lot in gold and silver to secure his loyalty and discreteness for this expedition.
“So the duel sounds good?”
“Surely, and on many levels, for they might have some tricks up their sleeves,” he said, “like a vidhyadhar.” He mentioned the magic practitioners of the land. “They used to have a tribe but are now dispersed and are limited to theatre shows or road shows where they awe people with their tricks. “But they wouldn’t be having a strong warrior like we do.”
Durukti scanned the Rakshas—they were all so tall and broad, it made Durukti feel small. Manavs had ordinary height as well, while the Nagas and Rakshas were all just tree-sized.
“Who would you send for the duel?”
“I have Kumbh,” he said. “Named after Lord Dashanan’s brother, my lady.”
“I hope he won’t sleep a lot like your Lord’s brother.” Durukti had read about Dashanan. While many considered him an eccentric man, he was a seeker of peace or that’s what Raktapa had portrayed him as. It was a long time back, back when Dashanan had come, but he had given them Eelam, carving a nice island for them to stay and prosper on.
Martanja laughed. “Anything, but that. He’s quite handy.”
Durukti nodded, standing on her feet, for she had finished her food. At that instant, Symrin also stood up. “All right. But just remember one thing.” The image of her weak and wounded brother who was suffering from a debilating disease and injury, began to choke her voice a little. “We have to win.”