Durukti was on her horse, slowly striding behind an army of Rakshas, some were on foot while others were on their horses. Chief Martanja rode next to her, on a black stallion. Symrin, on the other hand, had a weak horse for herself, but it was all right for her size. She was acting different, happier than usual.

“Is Shambala a sight to be glad about?” Durukti inquired in a leading way.

Symrin instantly wiped the foolish grin she had on herself. “No, my lady. Not particularly.”

“No?” Durukti was surprised. She must have been lying, for Shambala was the most beautiful sight one could see. Durukti had travelled a lot, but she hadn’t seen anything like this place. The lakes were pure, and crystal-clear, while the flowers were blooming; a sight to behold even though they were sprayed by blood. The forest’s greenery was so pure and lush, that it felt unreal. In contrast to all the beauty was the reality of what had happened on the ground, for it was scattered with bodies. Some had already begun to rot, while others were still twitching. All this destruction and loss of lives, despite Durukti’s strict instructions to the contrary.

She had reached close to the Soma Caves, also known as Indravan. Durukti had read about the “God” Indra. Many titles suggested he wasn’t a God to be feared or adored, but a madman who took revenge on Illavarti for being chosen by the Danavs, his counterparts. They were two warring brother clans, as she had read. One was the Danavs, the literal giants. They were extinct, or at any rate in hiding, since they hadn’t been seen in recent times. They were rumoured to be nine feet in height and having hands bigger than an average door. And their counterpart cousins were the Suras, such as the likes of Indra. The Suras realized the Danavs were worthless, ugly hybrids, causing them ill-reputation. Indra and his brothers had killed most of their cousins, while others were put to eternal sleep through various herbs. But eternal sleep, Durukti knew, meant being ‘poisoned’.

Those were stories. Mythology was funny. Many quarreled over it, of what was right or wrong, even though they knew there was no correct answer. Who has seen history play out after all, without also seeing it being twisted to suit the needs of the victors?

The orchids lay flat, stretching across the horizon where the setting sun cast its glow. Nature was her passion; it had always been. Perhaps it had been cultivated and slowly grown over a period of time, as she had seen the entire Illavarti and known what this country was capable of, even though the Breaking had caused most of this capability to now become dormant. The acrid smell of fire and blood was replaced by the fresh breeze, fragranced by the citrusy smell of the fruits and flowers. It made her smile and brightened her mood a little. She could hear the whistling and chirping of the birds which was then followed by the wails and yells. She didn’t realise she had closed her eyes and when she opened them, she was unable to comprehend the scene around her. A huge group of people were standing in front of the Soma Caves.

At best, the caves were the most unimpressive part of this village’s topography. And like any village which believed in the myths of these Gods, they had built a temple around it, with little inscriptions and idols, designed to worship the Vajra of Lord Indra. The mass of people were cornered, near the rocky, uneven path that led to the caves. They had occupied that space, almost hugging it out of fear.

She got off her horse and so did Martanja, as she made her way towards the entrance of the path. She calmly saw all of them. They were blocking it. It would be the peasant’s plan after all, since he was their so-called leader. The peasant had a different look about him. He wasn’t a usual boy. He had a different aura which she wasn’t able to explain. It was perhaps that he was extremely handsome, with exotic eyes, long wavy hair, and an angular jaw. He had an uneven nose, though. But all of it didn’t matter since he exhibited a radiance she had seen in only one other person—Kali. While Durukti had seen Kali make that radiance come to life, this boy had been born with the radiance. Also, it was perhaps the way he talked, as if he really cared. Durukti had seen a lot of men and women who showed as if the world mattered to them, but behind the curtains, they would twist and manipulate every situation to their benefit. This boy wasn’t like that. He had a genuine heart, pouring love out in his statements. He was nice. And in a world like this, it was difficult to find someone like him. Thus, she had agreed to not hurt anyone. It wasn’t just her guilt, but also his passion that had guided her decision. All of it flustered her, reddening her cheeks for she never believed she would be thinking and musing about a boy. She shook her head, as she watched the villagers standing in front of her.

All the panicky, afflicted faces of the villagers created a hole inside her chest. She couldn’t believe she had hurt them all. She had even trampled over the huge mass of the so-called army, who were coming in the way, led by a headstrong boy. She wasn’t there to clearly witness the win from her side, but it was bloody. But she didn’t want more of it. She was exhausted and a lot of deaths were on her head. She wanted to let go and just get what she wanted. Durukti walked in front, with her palms clasping each other. Symrin was behind her, with Martanja.

From the audience, appeared an old man, with little hair, a wrinkly face and eyes that held great wisdom.

“Have they all died?” He had a straight face, but even Durukti could see he was concealing his anguish.

Durukti contorted her face in apology. “I apologize.”

“Are you here to kill us as well?” the man asked.

“What is your name?”

“Devadatta,” he breathed out quietly.

“God-given,” she responded with a gentle smile.

“I’m anything but that. I brought misery to this village.”

Durukti looked at the sad, old man, but she just nodded. “You should have agreed. Standing by your religious traditions is important, but not at the cost of innocent lives.”

“You haven’t answered me. Will you kill us all?” He had knelt down now, his weak legs folded in genuflection.

“No, I won’t,” she said straightforwardly, “I don’t want to make more enemies. Also, I have promised someone I wouldn’t hurt any more of his friends.”

Perhaps, it was the glint in the old man’s eyes, but he nodded as if he knew who Durukti was talking about. “It’s funny how you say someone stopped you.” The old man had his face down and Durukti was unable to see him properly. “Because if it’s the same person I think you mean, then he was the one who told me to shove a dagger inside your navel.”

And then he pounced. For an old man, he was swift, almost pulling out the blade out of nowhere. Everyone was alarmed, but Durukti, anticipating it, quickly dodged. She grabbed the dagger’s hilt, her hands cupping the old man’s hands and with a sudden jerk, she twisted it back inside the old man. He had stabbed himself, as he staggered back in horror.

Durukti had learnt enough self-defense tricks. Surprise attacks weren’t really her combat style, as she liked slow agonising deaths, but Durukti was still skilled enough to know how to twist the attack into the offense. Devadatta collapsed on the floor, hands clutched over the dagger, his kurta pooling with his own blood.

Durukti had promised she wouldn’t kill anyone else. But it was self-defense, so she didn’t go back on her word technically. She came forward, this time, with merciless, blazing eyes, arched brows and a thin mouth, grim with anger. She placed her feet over the dagger which instantly sunk deeper inside Devadatta’s flesh. With one foot up and another on the dusty ground, she looked at everyone.

“I would request you to not tempt me anymore. I would request you all,” it came off as a strict order, her sleek, luscious voice booming with authority, “to leave this place. The chief will show you where to stay together until we are done. But we are going to open those caves today. And no one, I dare you, no one should try to stop me again .”