part0078

And he had no idea how to respond to it. The numbness was surely what overwhelmed him, but it was also the fact that nothing could be done to help Kalki. With a heavy heart, he stood far from the mud keep where the Somas were kept, circled around it aimlessly. He knew he had to do something. Kripa was at his side with Padma and Bala. On the other end, the Mlecchas guided by Dattatreya stood, calmly. They had their weapons sheathed, waiting for the signal. There was only one door and that had to be attacked.

Arjan had his sickle, wrapped with coconut husk ropes. He held it like a scimitar.

He saw the Rakshas on the top of the keep, training their arrows towards them, perhaps waiting for someone to attack. And they would.

“The trial starts at sundown,” Arjan said to them. “We need to do this fast and be successful at it.”

“We will.” Kripa sounded stern. “And if we don’t, we can all have a hoorah about it…um…” He looked at Arjan’s puzzled face as well as Padma’s. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, eh?”

Arjan began to move closer to the keep, while the Mlecchas followed him. Arjan acted as if nothing was wrong, looking at the apple cart, when he saw a bell-toller situated at the edge of the keep. He had to be executed first, so no backup would be called by others.

Sighing hard, Arjan was met by Dattatreya before he could even do something.

“This is a bad plan, aye? You said later at night, not morning.”

“I know. But my brother is about to die if we do it later. And I can’t have that,” Arjan’s blazing eyes made Dattatreya step back. He had a prejudiced anger towards Dattatreya already, even though Dattatreya was right. There was no plan, no method to this attack. This was going in, killing and getting out, hopefully not losing their lives in the bargain. This was a suicide mission with no coordination.

“Will you come with me or not?” Arjan asked.

Dattatreya hesitated, his eyes and mouth contorting into thoughtfulness. Arjan shrugged and turned to Kripa and Padma. He came forward, this time, drawing his spear. The gatekeepers, two Rakshas with long swords, came forward.

“What are you doing, boy? Leave before you regret it.”

Arjan firmly sank his feet to the ground. He didn’t move. In fact, for a moment, he couldn’t move. He mentally goaded himself to advance.

One Rakshas came forward and from what Arjan had learnt from Kripa, Arjan swung his spear and stabbed the Rakshas, destroying his mouth with his weapon. At that motion, everyone was alarmed. Instantly the second one had appeared in front of Arjan. He lurched at Arjan and tried to dissuade him by attacking him continuously until Arjan had to use his spear and strike at his head, ripping his skin off.

Arrows were rained towards Arjan, and he kept blocking it with the corpse of the Rakshas, letting the arrows hit the back of it. Arjan realized the arrows had stopped and there was the sound of heavy footsteps, chanting and hooting. Arjan saw the entire army of Mlecchas was arriving at the gates, some knocking off the Rakshas that appeared at the gate while others shot up arrows at the keep, knocking the guards over. The bell-toller was the first one to be killed, shot in the head.

Arjan was helped in the front and pulled up by Dattatreya who nodded, before going inside the gates. Arjan saw he was accompanied by Padma and Kripa.

“Good going,” Padma remarked, almost with a smirk.

Bala took the initiative of breaking the doors to the dome. But they were attacked by the gatekeepers, who pounced on them in a surprise attack. Bala grabbed one Rakshas, of the same height as him, while with his other hand he grabbed the other one. Bala showed no anguish as he choked them with his bare hands. In that moment, Arjan forgave Bala for revealing their plans to Ratri and causing them to be in trouble. But then, Bala did it out of goodness and for Ratri. Eventually she was brought round to agreeing to the plan, and she even agreed to finance the Mlecchas.

Bala came to the door and using his mace, he struck at it repeatedly. The wooden door creaked and finally splintered, leading to a flight of stairs that led downwards. With a quick check around them, Arjan saw the Mlecchas were clearly losing, less in number and not nearly enough to fend off the Rakshas. They had to just hold them off till Arjan could put enough Soma in the sack and leave.

Bala was first, ready to descend into darkness, aided by the faint light from the fire lamps. Padma took one for herself, pulling it from its iron handles. The stairway smelled of dead rats and sewage. Horrible as it was, the silence came off as worse, nearly unsettling all of them after the loud clamour of fighting from a while ago. For a moment, he was blind until he realized the staircase led to a passage, wider in size, the ceiling quite low. Bala had to bend his thick knees and crouch while he walked.

Arjan realized the passage leaked oil and water. Five Rakshas stood ahead of them, waiting to attack them. While Padma somersaulted and came in between the Rakshas’ legs, climbing on their backs and attacking them, it was Kripa used the sword to attack them, wielding it superbly, with an elegant flick of his wrist. He deflected and spun webs of attack, swinging so fast that the Rakshas got confused. Arjan used his prowess at that moment, sweeping down, as he dragged the scimitar across the Rakshas’ loins and ripping their privates apart. It was horrible and Arjan looked away in disgust. One more came on to him, pushed him against the wall, but he was pummeled by Bala’s mace.

Sweat had drenched their clothes, as they all made their way deep into the passage, after killing the Rakshas. Now, since the Rakshas had attacked them once, they knew their weak points. They knew that they could not be attacked in a straight-forward manner, but could be taken down with an element of surprise. It wasn’t like Shambala, where there were no trained men and women. Here, all five were used to their weapons, even Arjan, who couldn’t believe his own proficiency at wielding the sickle, which he had transformed into a makeshift scimitar.

The candles across the end of the passage dimmed as there was another door, more like a rock-slab, that hid something behind it. Bala was the first one to go forward, to try to move it with a jerk. But it didn’t work. Arjan helped as well while Kripa and Padma stood in front of it. As the slab moved, another Rakshas pounced towards Padma, grabbing her by the shoulder and throwing her on the ground, his blade next to her neck.

“Do not move!” the Rakshas growled. “Your woman shall die.”

“To be fair,” panted Kripa, perhaps of the exhaustion, “we don’t really like the lass, mate. You can take her along with you if you want.”

There was a hint of defiance in the Rakshas’ face. But then he grinned. “You lie, old man. You are afraid. It is evident.”

“What do you want?” Arjan stepped forward.

“I want to leave,” the Rakshas whimpered, when Padma, instantly sensing weakness, kneed him. He groaned and was about to hit her when Bala swung his mace and struck him hard. He was flung across the passage, his back hitting the floor. He must have become unconscious, for he didn’t even stir.

“I was about to save you,” Arjan said, defensively.

“Yeah, yeah,” Padma shrugged, leading inside where the Soma awaited.

Arjan entered and his eyes beheld a small room, but packed till the door’s edges with carved stone slabs, of different sizes, with blue coloured liquid brimming over. For a moment, Kripa stayed there next to him, dumbstruck. “Dear me, we meet again,” he whispered and Arjan didn’t understand what he meant. But then he instantly walked further and began to break the moulds of the rock.

“So this is the eternal gift of…” Arjan elbowed Bala, who was speaking without thinking in front of Padma, who was still in awe.

“These are not really herbs,” she said, perhaps referencing to a conversation she had with someone else. “What are these?”

“Ingredients, I told you, lass,” Kripa said, bending down.

“Why are they so wellg-uarded?” Padma asked, her hands holding the fire lamp.

“Because they can lead to a lot of destruction, if handled carelessly,” Kripa sighed, shaking his head as he carefully touched the rocks, easily able to pull it off from the slabs and resting it on the floor. He tied the sack and nodded at Arjan. “We are done.”

By this time, Arjan had knelt down and tasted the water that had surfaced underneath the rocks. It was oil.

“I don’t get it. Why is it leaking oil?”

“Because, mate, these rocks aren’t ordinary,” Kripa said, “they are made of fumes and oil. I am not really certain why they leach oil, but they do and it makes it horribly flammable.”

“And leave all this power to Kali right here?” Arjan said. “That’s unacceptable.” Bala had his arms crossed, his mace dangling from his belt. “Brother is right, old man. We should do something about this.”

“We can worry about that later, mate. For now, let us just care about what we have to do,” Kripa grunted, moving for the door. “You all don’t plan to leave? The Mlecchas won’t stay up there defending us forever. So let’s get on with it.”

Arjan chided, “We need to do something.”

“Like what?” Kripa scowled.

And then, Padma did the unexpected. She dropped the lamp down, letting the oil and fire mix together until the soma stones began to be engulfed in bright orange flames.

“Like this,” Padma said, a sort of calm menace taking over her facial features.

Kripa’s eyes widened while Arjan staggered to the front, leaving the room as a fireball exploded across it. Arjan shouted, “We need to close the room down, otherwise it’s going to hurt us and spread to the upper levels.”

Bala scurried in the corner and began to move the rock slab that he had moved aside earlier. Arjan helped him, but the hot burning rocks just flew out of the room. One of it even managed to hit Kripa’s arm, who was standing in front of the room. “I’ve never seen a sight like this.”

“Well you can stop caring about the sight and help us.” Arjan pushed the rock as Padma joined him, but Kripa remained stuck to the spot.

“I could have done this years ago, but I didn’t,” he whispered to himself, the sound of his voice appearing muffled. “Why didn’t I? Perhaps I was afraid because I just didn’t want it to be destroyed. Perhaps I wanted it to be right here in Illavarti,” he was having a fit, with a voice that was barely human, “for I just wanted them to be used by the people again, when the Dark Age would be over. Perhaps I saw too much hope,” he paused, “but is there any left?”

And the slab was put back in place finally. Arjan sighed, the heat suffocating him, but he panted hard. He couldn’t see or think for a moment, the smoke obfuscating his mind. He nodded and stood up, reaching out to Kripa and shaking him up. “What was that about?” Arjan said, looking deep in his eyes. The old man had secrets Arjan was not aware of and he didn’t like that. Now Arjan felt what Ratri had been feeling earlier.

Kripa looked at him, his eyes glassy with confusion. “I don’t know. A justification of my actions, perhaps.”

Leaving the hole they were in, Arjan found himself in the cesspool of corpses and blood that surrounded him in the dome. He walked over the spilt blood, his gut wrenching tightly at the sight, his nose covered to stave off the stench. He reached outside and found Dattatreya with limbs cut off and his eyes gouged out. He hadn’t survive and Arjan couldn’t help but feel awful for him.

Death allowed you to feel anger and sadness at the same time. He never thought he would feel bad for a Mleccha and yet this siege had made him feel just that.

“We have work to do, brother,” Bala said, patting his shoulders.

Arjan nodded, walking alongside his friends, leaving the keep, while the few straggling onlookers watched the survivors of the bloodbath. And then he witnessed the sun going down and most of the citizens rushing for the trial which was happening on the other side of the city. They were late and Arjan couldn’t understand how, since they were down there for just a while. But then, time doesn’t wait for anyone. The authorities of Kali would know what had happened to his precious Soma, but only perhaps after the trial.

“We are late,” Arjan said, watching the sundown. Kripa and Bala exchanged glances, while Padma didn’t care.

“I know mate.” Kripa glanced at Padma. “I need your help and your help,” he looked at Bala. “I need your help too, Arjan. For all I know, I need every bit of help I can get to make what I have to make so we can go there…”

“Hold on. We?” Padma was confused. “I was with you all only till here.”

Kripa looked up, gritting his teeth. “Lass, whatever intentions run in your blood, let me tell you something important, very, very important. Your misery is a lot smaller compared to what we have undertaken. We are saving the saviour of our world.”

It sounded ridiculously pompous, especially to someone who was not aware of their background or their circumstances.

“What kind of a saviour needs saving? I probably don’t want to be saved by him,” Padma protested.

“He’s just not ready,” Kripa explained, bringing the sack to the corner, for he was unable to hold it for too long. Arjan put his hand over Padma’s shoulder, beseeching her to understand. Padma frowned and then nodded in agreement, after looking at Bala, who had saved her when the Rakshas had attacked her.