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Bhola was thirteen years old when he watched his father killed. He wanted to scream his lungs out, but his uncle covered his mouth. They hid in the shadows, witnessing the slaughter.
Roaring flames engulfed their palace. His father’s headless body convulsed on the marble floor.
The nightmarish images would haunt Bhola all his life.
“Secret passage next to the Jagarakshaka idol... use it and run Bhola,” his uncle whispered hastily, hand pressed like a rock on Bhola’s mouth, “But stay in the shadows. Make sure they don’t catch you.”
Bhola pulled his uncle’s hand away, “Chachu...” he said in between short breaths, “what about... baba...?”
“He’s dead!” his uncle hissed, “If you want revenge, you have to keep living. You’ll have your revenge, I promise!”
“But...”
“Run to the hills, I will find you!” Saying that, his uncle let go. Not knowing what else he could do, Bhola obeyed. He ran towards the secret passage.
It wasn’t a straight path, debris and dead bodies scattered everywhere he stepped.
Every time he hid, he saw hideous scenes of bloodshed. Soldiers clad in brown and black had mercilessly slaughtered everyone. He didn’t know what was happening, but now was not the time to think.
He found the Jagarakshaka idol that chachu was referring to and sneaked into the storage chamber where the passage was hidden. Once inside, the cold darkness embraced him. He kept touching the wall, walking briskly. His little teenage heart threatened to give out. He panted, felt the air leave his chest.
Bhola had to stop and remind himself to breathe. If they found him now, he’d be killed like baba. Or worse.
He had to run. And he did.
Everyone was dead. His father lay headless in one of the rooms – he didn’t remember which one. He didn’t even know where his mother and sister were. He thought about returning for them, but decided chachu would take care of it. He trusted chachu’s word. He ran. Outside the palace, it wasn’t much different. Their little town lay bare and open to the raiders. Soldiers cut down like livestock, houses burning to shed an ominous light on the violence that occupied the night.
Bhola ran. Ignoring the pain of everyone in their city, he ran.
And hid.
And ran.
And hid.
He was frightened out of his wits. The only thing keeping him going was chachu’s promise. His arms and legs had grown weary. His lungs burned with fatigue, weakened by the black smoke from his burning home.
Despite everything he ran.
Bhola had to survive. He had to avenge his family, even if it meant giving everything up.
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In the distance, Bhola saw the smoke rising to the stars. There was an amber glow around his city. The life he had known now burned to ashes. He could never return.
Never.
Bhola found a tree which he climbed up. Ants and spiders crawled about him, but those creepy insects were welcoming friends compared to the ruthless soldiers that were decimating his life.
Where are you chachu?
Bhola felt something cold touch him, and he immediately froze. Idiot.
A snake slithered up his leg. He felt its cold weight on his thighs. His heart raced, almost audibly.
Calm down, Bhola. It won’t do anything.
Bhola had seen snakes before. He had even held snakes under supervision. He hoped it wasn’t a venomous snake. It would be impossible to confirm given his position. How was he to check the snake’s colour and scales in the dark?
He swallowed his spit, realising then how dry his throat was. His leg threatened to shake, his mind draining itself to keep them steady.
Calm down. Calm down.
The snake slithered onto his back, and fell to the side. Immediately the side of his torso felt pin prickles.
It’s not a bite. It’s just you. Calm down. Think what baba would do. Think what chachu would do.
The snake slowly slithered from his torso towards his hands. The moment it climbed on, Bhola held his breath. Jagarakshaka, please protect me.
The snake slithered onto his head, and Bhola shut his eyes tightly. Please, Jagarakshaka. Praise be upon you. Please protect me.
Aum Jai Jagarakshaka.
Aum Jai Jagarakshaka!
Bhola continued to chant praises to the Protector, but the snake seemed to have found a perfect spot to rest. It stayed there, its cold scaly form on Bhola’s head.
Bhola had to control himself. He wondered what bad karma he had acquired in his past life for him to be suffering so.
And then Bhola realised, maybe the Protector had sent this snake. To cool him down after the heat of flight. Maybe this was the Protector’s sign to him that everything would be okay.
The gods worked in mysterious ways. The snake wasn’t a bad omen. Bhola knew it to be true, the thought comforting him.
Bhola’s heart slowed down, pumping normally. His breathing steadied too. He actually found the snake’s presence reassuring, as if Jagarakshaka or Durajaya were personally making sure he was safe.
That’s it! Durajaya!
The Destroyer was known to care for all animals, including snakes. It was his sign.
A sign from two of the triumvirate. Jagarakshaka wanted to protect him. Durajaya wanted to remind him that he had to destroy his enemies.
The thoughts occupied Bhola’s mind, distracting him from the pain and suffering of that night.
He didn’t even realise when he drifted off to sleep.
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Bhola awoke to the crunching noise of footsteps. They were at a distance, but the night was silent and the presence of people heavy.
Bhola started up and almost lost balance. He reminded himself that he was on a tree branch and gripped it tighter. He couldn’t feel the snake’s touch or presence around him.
Bhola held his breath, hoping that would keep him steady, but that was the very moment an itch burnt on his legs. The ants and spiders had probably gnawed at his flesh when he was asleep.
Bhola felt his insides scream. Parts of his flesh felt like they were on fire. But he kept silent, trying to identify the distant forms that approached him.
Idiot, why did you have to climb a tree that’s on the hill’s trail?
As they came closer, Bhola noticed metal glint in the moonlight. The sudden realisation of being unarmed hit him like an enemy’s arrow. The figures that tread the hill’s trail were cautious, he could tell from their body language.
As they neared, he heard hushed voices. Familiar voices.
Chachu!
“Chachu!” he called out.
Weapons raised, they halted.
“Bhola?” chachu’s voice called out cautiously.
Bhola slid down the tree and presented himself to the group. It took chachu less than a heartbeat to rush to his nephew and embrace him tightly.
This was the first time Bhola had seen any man in his family weep real tears.
“Bhola... Jagarakshaka has kept you safe! Praise be upon him!”
Chachu’s embrace suddenly reminded Bhola of the vice grip he had held Bhola in when his father was being killed. Flashes of the beheading. The heat. The screams. The chaos.
Bhola pushed himself free, screaming in horror.
Startled, chachu took a step back. “Bhola?”
Bhola couldn’t contain himself. He wept. He let his broken heart finally feel the pain of his loss.
It gushed like a full river in the middle of a thunderstorm, deep and dominant enough to drown even elephants.
Chachu pulled him into another embrace, caressing him, “Weep, boy. Weep.”
Bhola clutched onto chachu’s clothes, dug his face deep into his chest and let his tears soak them.
“Weep all you want tonight, boy,” chachu said, “You won’t get another chance.”
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When Bhola awoke the next morning, he hoped it was all a nightmare.
He was wrong.
Their city was too far away for them to smell it, but the residual smoke still lingered on the horizon like a phantom. Bhola was still haunted by flashes of the night. He had learned not to react to them.
They had made a makeshift camp in the hills. There wasn’t any river nearby, so they had to be frugal about water.
When it was time to break their fast, Bhola was given just a handful of berries.
“We aren’t nobles anymore, Bhola,” chachu broke the news. “We can’t go back.”
Bhola did not question. He was old enough to know when to shut up. If all were peaceful, he would have started helping his father out with their duties. However, the raid ruined everything.
“Who was that, chachu?”
Chachu frowned. Eyes reddening with anger. “Are you deaf or are you dumb?”
“What do you mean...?”
“Didn’t you pay attention when your father spoke at court?”
Bhola grew frightened. His chachu rarely scolded him like this. This was not like him.
Chachu reminded him of the soldiers screaming death. “ANSWER ME!”
“NO!” Bhola screamed back, “Baba didn’t tell me anything!” Tears lined his eyes.
He could tell that Chachu wanted to scream, but he held himself back. He gathered his anger and spat it out on the side. “Your mother has made you soft, boy. We need to change that.” He chewed on that for a while, then shouted to a nearby guard – one of only five that had managed to escape. “Rana! Come here.”
Rana was a big man, not muscular but imposing nonetheless. He was a former Pehlwan who had saved chachu’s life during a hunt. Since then, Rana had been chachu’s personal bodyguard and right hand. “Yes, sahib?”
Chachu got up, “The boy needs education.” Saying that, he walked away to tend to other matters.
Rana took Bhola to the side and began explaining the status of politics in Adeva.
“King Anandananta?” Bhola asked.
Rana nodded, “He rose to prominence after killing his own king, that vile scum.” Rana muttered a curse. “He’s undertaken the Uniting Crusade.”
“Just like King Durana,” Bhola added, hoping it would show him as knowledgeable.
“King Durana doesn’t have the numbers that Anandananta has.”
Bhola frowned. That’s why it had been so easy for his soldiers to sack their city overnight.
“A few months back, he sent us a proposal to surrender peacefully. Surrendering would mean leaving King Durana’s kingdom open for assault. Care to guess what your father might have said?”
Baba wasn’t a king, just a zamindar. He took good care of their town and neighbouring villages, earning a lot of favour from King Durana for his loyalty and righteous conduct. Bhola said, “He must’ve refused.”
Rana nodded, “Your father’s loyalty cost us everything, boy.”
Bhola frowned. “What do we do now?”
Rana unsheathed his sword and handed it over. “Now we train.”
Bhola looked at the blade suspiciously, “Swordplay?”
Rana shook his head. “Your family’s wealth no longer exists, boy. You don’t have rich or powerful relatives to help us.” He proffered the sword, hilt first this time, “We’re on our own.”
Bhola’s eyes narrowed. “King Durana...”
Chachu shouted, returning, “He’s a coward, that fat asshole. King Anandananta has made an example of us,” he stood next to Rana, “That should be enough to get Durana to surrender.”
Bhola looked at the sword again, then accepted it. It was heavier than the ones he had practised with. “What will we do?” he asked Rana.
Rana looked to chachu before answering, “Dacoity.”
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The plains were lush this monsoon. The grass growing alongside trader’s roads almost glowed green as it gently swayed. Dew clung to their blades, just as blood clung to the dacoit’s weapons.
Beside the road, a chariot lay abandoned. Dead guards with fatal wounds lay around it. The merchant couple that owned the chariot knelt at the dacoit’s feet, begging for mercy.
The couple wore matching green outfits. He wore a peacock green silk kurta with gold leaf embroidery in the Limat style, she a nine-yard silk sari with gold and silver thread borders. Their necks were decked in gold, jewels, and a noose whose other end lay in the hands of a menacing-looking man wearing a black vest, maroon pyjamas and a black turban.
“You can either tell us what more riches you’re hiding, or we can rip your chariot apart and find them ourselves.” This from another dacoit.
The portly man with a balding pate begged with joined hands, “I gave you all we had.”
“What about your ornaments?” a third one asked, pointing his dagger at their throats, “You two fatsos look like you already ate a kingdom’s worth.”
The gang laughed, everyone except their Sardar. He had a menacing look to him, a serpent tattoo coiling around his right hand. He was the only man wearing a maroon turban. He raised his muscular hand and shouted, “Silence! What are you, jesters? Just get it over with.”
The merchant, recognizing who held the power immediately diverted his attention towards him, “Sardar! Please! We’re harmless folks. We don’t even have bodyguards anymore!” They lay dead around their chariot. “You’ve taken our chests.” Stacked behind the Sardar. “At least spare us these ornaments!” he joined his hands to beg, “They’re family heirlooms.”
The Sardar’s expression was stonelike. “Rana.”
The holding the noose replied, “Yes, Sardar?”
“If they don’t surrender their ornaments, hack off their heads and retrieve the gold.”
Rana gave a menacing grin, “Gladly, Sardar.”
The Sardar didn’t bother paying attention to the merchants’ pleas. He knew they’d oblige.
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“You shouldn’t have stripped the woman,” chachu reprimanded, “We aren’t that kind of gang.” The flames of their cookfire made him look powerful. Night painted the skies a dark purple, embroidered with twinkling stars and a half-moon with a dull glow. Dark clouds threatened to shower the world again this night.
“How does it matter?” Bhola spat out a bone into the fire, then retorted, “We were harmless merchants too. Did that save my mother and sister’s lives? Can you guarantee they died a quick death?”
Chachu looked away from Bhola to the peace of mutton in his hand.
Bhola scoffed. “At least we didn’t rape the bitch. If they’re lucky, no one will harm them.” Even he knew that was a stretch. Their chariot would likely be caught by another gang, and seeing an almost naked woman without guards was enough motivation for them to have their way. “Anyway, that couple came from Nishanata, didn’t they? Anandananta’s capital. If I could...”
“Are you listening to yourself?” Chachu snapped, dropping his plate to the ground. Expression gaunt, chachu got up and walked away.
Chachu had spent the last four years making a dreadful dacoit out of Bhola. What started as survival ended up making Bhola a dark man with a darker reputation. “You made me, chachu!” Bhola shouted, “This is who I am now!”
Chachu did not respond.
Bhola returned to his meat, chewing on dark thoughts. His eyes looked to the flames, flashes of his father’s death still haunting him. However, they didn’t frighten him anymore. If anything, those flames roiled something within his soul. Burnt it dark. Vengeance had become his life’s goal, which is why his gang targeted traders and convoys going to and from the Ananta Kingdom.
“You know, Bhola,” Rana said, chewing audibly, “People can get jumpy when you start attacking their women.” He ripped off a huge chunk straight off the bone and continued to chew. “It’s not like you haven’t attracted enough attention.”
Bhola didn’t take his eyes off the flames, “Good.”
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After dinner, Bhola walked over to the edge of the camp. The darkness that he once feared was now a welcoming friend. The fires behind were beginning to die down.
Bhola found a spot, squatted and pissed carefully. He always found relieving himself a major inconvenience as a dacoit. No matter how much his body had grown accustomed to it, his mind still hated it. Although a negligible complaint, it still added to his unending list of reasons to seek revenge.
A twig snapped.
Bhola grew alert. He slowly reached for the dagger in his belt.
“Sardar Bhola?” a soft voice called out.
Bhola did not respond. He tried to gauge his surroundings.
“I wish I had found you in a better position.”
Bhola located the position of the voice. Quickly, he turned and threw the dagger at the stranger standing behind him.
The stranger caught the dagger. By the hilt.
Bhola grew tense. His position was awkwardly vulnerable.
“Put your dick back in and let’s talk.”
“Why?”
“Because,” the stranger lowered the dagger, “I have some information for you.”
“Keep talking,” Bhola said, rising up slowly.
“I won’t attack you,” the stranger said. In a flash, Bhola’s dagger lodged itself in the soil between his legs. “Unless you make me.”
Bhola’s throat went dry. This was a formidable foe. Was he one of Anandananta’s? An assassin?
As if hearing his thoughts, the stranger said, “You have sworn vengeance on Raja Anandananta. Sorry...” he paused briefly, “I mean Maharaja Anandananta. Let’s not forget his success with the Uniting Crusade.”
Was Anandananta an emperor now? The thought made Bhola grimace. “Are you one of his?”
The stranger stepped closer. The dull moonlight revealed a bushy beard and saintly robes. A priest?
“Who are you?”
“A messenger,” the stranger said, “The gods left Adeva a thousand years ago, but they still take a keen interest in the happenings of this land.” The mere mention of the gods seemed to still the air. The clouds drifting in the sky halted in position. The stars stopped twinkling. Bhola’s own breathing slowed down, urging him to kneel to this stranger.
What was happening?
The stranger pointed to Bhola’s serpent tattoo, “You believe me, right?”
Bhola looked at his arm, the tattoo barely visible in the moonlight. It had given him strength over the years. The gods themselves had sent him a sign, both the Protector and the Destroyer. He clenched his fist and looked at the stranger.
Normally, Bhola would demand an explanation. But with this stranger, his instincts betrayed him. This wasn’t an ordinary man. This wasn’t even an extraordinary king. This was a messenger of the gods, and his presence imposed itself on Bhola.
The stranger finally spoke, “Anandananta is one region away from becoming a Maharaja.”
The words rang in Bhola’s mind like war drums. His guts twisted inside.
“He must fail.”
Bhola’s tongue untwisted, finally granting him speech. Was it the stranger’s doing? “Where?” his voice croaked.
The stranger crossed his arms. “You will learn of the time and location from another dacoit. You must join forces with him.”
Bhola considered it. Dacoits rarely joined forces, unless circumstances demanded it. “Who?”
“Sauraga,” the stranger said.
Sauraga was another dacoit, like Bhola. A noble forced into a life of crime after Anandananta had usurped his lands. It was almost too convenient.
Maybe this really was divine intervention. The gods worked in mysterious ways. For once, a wronged dacoit would get a chance at claiming justice. Two dacoits. “I will do it,” Bhola declared, “I will stop that bastard Anandananta.”
The stranger stepped closer and cupped Bhola’s face. Bhola’s body seemed to freeze. He couldn’t even blink of his own volition.
“The fate of Adeva depends on you, Bhola,” the stranger said. His hands started to glow. Dim at first. Then blinding.
A flash slapped Bhola in the face. As it faded, the world returned to normalcy. The clouds drifted again. The stars twinkled. And Bhola lay on the ground, wondering who the stranger was.
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A week passed before Bhola’s gang received word from Sauraga’s gang. They wanted to meet.
Bhola readily accepted despite chachu’s protests. Bhola didn’t care about the risks. All he wanted was vengeance.
The night of their meeting arrived. Bhola’s gang had to travel for two days outside their territories into neutral ground.
As they reached the determined spot, they spotted Sauraga’s gang of dacoits feasting on stolen sheep. The three cookfires indicated they were larger in numbers, but they weren’t as infamous as Bhola’s gang.
“That’s the one?” chachu asked.
“Yup,” Rana replied, “Just like us, apparently.”
“Are you sure about this, Bhola?” chachu asked.
Bhola simply grunted.
Chachu sighed, then said, “Let me do the talking.”
Bhola didn’t protest. He knew it was better that way.
The night sky had a rotten orange tint to it. It reminded Bhola of the amber glow above his burning city.
Chachu led his gang, now comprising twenty dacoits, towards the larger gang that Bhola hoped he could command.
When the other dacoits saw them approaching, their Sardar was the one to come greet them.
“Sardar Bhola!” he shouted without a care, his voice deep and commanding. “Welcome to our camp!”
“Sardar Sauraga,” chachu shouted, “We accept your gracious welcome!”
The sound of noble etiquettes on a dacoit’s tongue was quite off-putting. Bhola hadn’t heard such politesse in four years.
“You must be chachu,” Sauraga said joining his hands, “May Jagarakshaka protect you.”
“And you, Sardar,” chachu joined his hands, “My nephew, Sardar Bhola.”
Bhola joined his hands and faked a smile, trying to gauge the man. Sauraga was stout, much like the merchant they’d robbed a week before. However, Sauraga's notoriety was unquestioned.
Sauraga wore his vest unbuttoned, letting the world see his scar-laden belly. His chest was wide, and his arms thick. Despite his heavy appearance, there was a certain grace to his movements. Probably because he had been a musician before a dacoit.
“The Bhoomipadh Household,” Sardar Sauraga said as his men served food, “was renowned for creating a fusion between the Bhoomivaani school of music and the Jagapadha school of dance. It was a revolutionary art form. My father spent his life perfecting two full art forms before making that fusion, and then passing it on to us!”
“May Jagarakshaka protect his soul,” chachu added, “The Bhoomipadh Household was making a big difference in the world of art.”
“Indeed,” Sardar Sauraga nodded, trailing a scar on his belly with a gnarled finger, “That vile Anandananta ruined everything. His barbaric actions have thrown the arts a few years behind! Decades maybe!”
Bhola grunted in agreement. He was starting to like this Sardar. Although he was being polite, the hatred in his words was evident. Bhola could work with him.
“What made you call us, Sardar?” chachu asked casually.
Sardar Sauraga smiled. “I’ve heard tell of Sardar Bhola’s deeds. People fear him. Even soldiers. Your gang is small but it’s gained a lot of notoriety.”
“And I hate Anandananta just as much as you,” Bhola said, searching Sauraga’s eyes for a reaction.
And the reaction came. His eyes lit up with an evil smile, “Exactly. You see... we have received word that Anandananta is going back to Nishanata in a month’s time.”
“So?”
“But he’s going to take a detour to visit the Jagadhama temple.”
This time, Bhola’s eyes lit up. Jagadhama Temple was located in the Western Ghats across the plains. The temple was notoriously tough to reach, the path up the mountain dangerously small, meaning Anandananta’s retinue would be stretched thin. “You mean to ambush him.”
The stranger had been right.
“Why did you reach out to me, really?”
Sauraga thought about it. Then shrugged. “I sought advice from a travelling priest. He said you would be of help.”
Travelling priest...
“And it’s not like I haven’t heard of your deeds.” Sauraga chuckled and slapped his thigh.
Bhola nodded. “You have a plan?”
“I have people near Jagadhama who owe me from my dancing days. I can sneak our men close to the temple.”
This was their chance to nab the bastard.
“No!” chachu grabbed control of the conversation, “Shedding blood in a temple will bring us bad karma! You want to rot in hell?”
Bhola clenched his fist, but it was Sauraga’s sweet response that silenced chachu. “No offence chachu, but hell is the best we can hope for after what we’ve done. Isn’t that right, Bhola?”
Bhola sneered, “After? The way I see it, Anandananta’s already thrown us in hell.”
Sauraga chuckled in agreement.
Chachu’s shoulders slumped. He had no response. He excused himself and left.
Rana signalled for three men to follow chachu, then grabbed a leg piece, “Talk to him, Sardar.”
“What?”
“Talk to him,” Rana repeated, slower this time, “You’re alive because of him. You’re surviving because of him. Don’t neglect his advice.” He bit into the meat, its juices flowing down his greying beard.
Bhola grimaced, “And who are you to tell me that, Rana?”
Rana started at him straight. He held Bhola’s gaze as he chewed on the tender meat, every passing heartbeat enraging Bhola even more. How dare this lowly bodyguard talk to him like that? It was only after he swallowed that Rana responded. “I’m the man who taught you to fight, boy.”
The word stabbed him. Bhola wanted to strike Rana, but it was Sauraga who took offence.
Sword drawn, he held the blade at Rana’s throat. “Apologise to your Sardar. NOW.”
“Fuck off,” Rana said casually, biting into the meat and chewing as if there weren’t a blade at his throat.
“Say the word,” Sauraga said to Bhola.
Rana chewed on the meat, eyes still staring at Bhola. No matter how enraged he was, he couldn’t just let Sauraga kill Rana. If anyone would kill Rana for his insolence, it would be Bhola. “You hurt my man, and I will kill you myself.”
Sauraga jeered, lowering his sword.
Rana licked his fingers clean and placed the plate down. He got up and wiped his hands on his pyjama, “I must see your chachu. Sardar,” he bowed to Bhola, “Sardar” he bowed to Sauraga.
“I’ll join you,” Bhola said getting up. Ignoring Sauraga, Bhola walked in chachu’s direction.
Rana caught up to him, but knew to stay silent. Their men followed in a line.
Once out of earshot, Bhola stopped and looked at Rana. “If you ever talk out of line, I won’t think twice before lopping off your head.”
The threat would’ve been effective if Rana were shorter than Bhola. But the former Pehlwan towered over him, “That’s the problem, Sardar. You don’t even think once.”
Before Bhola could retort, chachu’s voice grabbed their attention, “Not here!”
They exchanged glances, Bhola’s angry, Rana’s expressionless, then followed chachu.
Once they found a safe enough spot, Bhola took charge. “We are doing this and that is my command.”
“It’s too risky! And I’m not just speaking about bad karma!”
“You’re acting like a coward!”
“And you’re acting like a fucking child!”
Chachu argued all night, but Bhola’s determination was unshaken. Bhola saw a chance at vengeance and he would get it no matter the cost.
“How long do you expect me to be a dacoit!?” Bhola yelled.
“Until we have enough to start over!” chachu screamed back, “Even the great Gendaka Household was once a dacoit gang! They played their moves correctly and now they’re nobles.” chachu grabbed Bhola’s vest and pulled him closer. Bhola could see the pain and regret in chachu’s eyes. “I taught you to survive, boy. But this is suicide!”
Bhola pushed chachu back so hard that chachu fell on his butt. “You taught me to be a dacoit. You want us to change our ways now?”
“We can earn enough to stop this. Become nobles again! You can avenge your father then. Dethrone Anandananta! Don’t do this, Bhola.” Chachu was on his knees, his hands joined to beg, “Please, Bhola.”
“Dacoit, noble, how does it matter, chachu?” Bhola dusted his wrinkled vest, “Revenge is revenge.” He pointed an accusing finger at his uncle, the snake tattoo looking like it was ready to devour him, “You promised me revenge.”
“Not like this...”
“SHUT UP!” Bhola shouted. “If you don’t agree, you’re free to leave.”
Chachu went pale.
“LEAVE!” spittle flew from his mouth as he screamed, “Leave before I slit your fucking throat!”
Shaken to his soul, chachu got up. He was about to make one last attempt, but decided against it. Bhola saw a glint of tears in his chachu’s eyes. It wrangled his guts almost as much as the image of his dying father had.
He saw Rana run behind chachu, but chachu said something to him and gestured him back.
Rana came up to Bhola and said, “He’s really leaving, boy.”
“Want to join him?”
Rana’s expression was rock-like as ever. “He ordered me to stay and protect you.”
“Fine.” Bhola said through clenched teeth, “Then plan the ambush.”
Rana studied his eyes, then nodded.
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Jagadhama Temple was one of the eighteen ancient pilgrimage spots for followers of Jagarakshaka. Of the eighteen, Jagadhama was the least visited, owing to its location. Even if anyone were to visit here, it would be devout priests and green youngsters. The difficulty in accessing this temple even prompted some not to count it as part of any mandatory pilgrimage, further reducing the number of visitors.
All this meant that Bhola could place enough of his men in the temple complex for the ambush.
The temple complex was situated on the top of the tallest peak in the Western Ghats. The mountain path that led to the temple twisted and curved like a mad snake, making it impossible for a large group to pass by.
The monsoon had painted mountains lush and green. The air high above was cold and humid. Sauraga had arranged for blankets that their men could use to disguise themselves.
There was a quaint village at the mountain’s foot that served as the last point of rest before the trek to the temple. The dacoits had reached it almost a week before Anandananta’s arrival to set up their ambush.
All twenty of Bhola’s men had taken shelter in the temple, claiming to be refugees seeking Jagarakshaka’s protection. The ever-generous priests who let them in didn’t even think to search them. Who would be cruel enough to shed blood in a temple?
Bhola’s men found precarious footing off the mountain paths. They had hauled up enough soil to create a small rockslide to cut off Anandananta’s already-scant numbers. Rana’s plan seemed flawless.
As if to bless them, Jagarakshaka even ordered the rains to thrash the mountains on the day of the bastard’s arrival.
Rainfall obscured their vision. Bhola and Rana hid on a tree that gave them a vantage point of the temple’s entrance as well as the path that led up to it.
Storm clouds rumbled like war drums, making Bhola restless. “He won’t call it off, will he?”
“The man’s as devout as a priest,” Rana said, “He’ll walk barefoot over burning coals if it means pleasing the gods.”
“Have we received word of their departure?”
“He’ll come, boy,” Rana said, “Be patient.”
The path was thin, mountain on one side, a thorny fall on the other. Hidden deep within those thorny shrubs and mossy rocks were Sauraga and his men. They would climb out when Bhola gave the signal. They were so well hidden, Bhola couldn’t even tell what part of the landscape was real.
Almost an hour later, when the rains tired out, Bhola spotted a small retinue in the distance. It was still half an hour’s march away from the temple, but he could see Anandananta’s dampened flag on them. His revenge was coming to him.
Fifteen minutes later, Bhola heard the rockslide. The rains had slowed to a drizzle, allowing them to hear Anandananta’s soldiers panic. They rushed to clear the path, but their numbers weren’t enough. A few moments later, Bhola saw a smaller retinue depart. They had a golden parasol among them.
“That’s Anandananta, isn’t it?”
Rana shrugged, “Could be a decoy. Kings use decoys often.” He turned to look at him, “You want your revenge, boy? Don’t do anything hasty.”
For the first time in years, Bhola nodded in submission. He would kiss Rana’s feet, he would surrender himself to his chachu and beg forgiveness as long as he got to kill Anandananta and get away with it.
His heart thumped as the small retinue of twenty soldiers, ten attendants, six royal guards and two advisors came into view. The king wore bright white robes, as was expected of pilgrims who wished to perform a puja. It would be easy to keep an eye on him.
“Twenty-eight armed men,” Bhola said.
“What makes you think the servants aren’t equipped to fight?” Rana whispered back.
Bhola felt something touch his leg. Startled, he looked over his shoulder to see a snake slither by. He sneered. Jagarakshaka, protect me.
“We’re outnumbered,” Rana said, “I’m signalling for backup.” He proceeded to whistle a bird call.
It wouldn’t be necessary. “Get ready,” Bhola said, already prepared to jump down.
Ten soldiers entered the temple gates while the king dismounted and his servants readied his offerings for him. A lone soldier ran out of the gates and conferred with the advisors.
Bhola could sense something wrong, but his belief kept him calm. Protect me, Jagarakshaka.
The advisors approached the king, who looked offended. He shouted at them, seemed like he was reprimanding them. Then, he proceeded to walk straight.
Bhola barely just heard, “Trust the Protector!”
King Anandananta entered the temple complex, followed closely by his hurrying retinue. Bhola sneered and gave the call. High above, the sky rumbled again. The rains would pour and the clouds would weep as a monster’s blood was spilt on sacred temple grounds.
Bhola and Rana carefully slid down the tree. They slowly made their way towards the entrance, where four soldiers stood guard.
“Wait for backup,” Rana said.
Bhola ignored him, grabbing the sword he’d hidden under the tree. He unsheathed it and darted towards the guards. He surprised one guard by slashing his throat, kicking the second between the legs while slashing at the third.
The fourth one raised the alarm.
Bhola managed to cut the fourth one down while the second and third took defensive stances. Rana drove through one. Bhola cut down the other.
Rana looked at him and simply growled. “Backup.”
Bhola saw Sauraga climb off the sides of the cliff. Far in the distance, calls and trumpets erupted amongst the growing drizzle. The ambush had begun.
Bhola turned to see the soldiers rush to the entrance. Two against ten was going to be tough, but the disguised beggars inside the temples would even their odds.
All hell broke loose.
King Anandananta’s men were disciplined, forming defensive positions around their king. The dacoits howled savage battle cries to aggravate the chaos. Swords met in heavy clinks. Men groaned. The air burgeoned with death.
The royal soldiers had better armour, better shields. The dacoits had only their blades and wits. Bhola saw his men fall one after the other as their disorganised attacks failed to shake the king’s men.
Bhola gripped his sword tighter as he noticed Sauraga and his forty dacoits approach the gates. Swords drawn, Sauraga dashed forward.
“KILL THE KING!” Bhola screamed, his cry met with a booming chant from the dacoits, and a flash from the storm clouds above.
Thunder echoed as the dacoits crossed the gates. The royal guards braced for contact.
Bhola deflected a blade and shouldered a soldier straight in the face. As he stumbled, he grabbed the man’s vest and flung him to the side. He parried a third and arced the sword away. It had been some time since he had fought such disciplined men, it was almost exciting.
Bhola played with his opponents before swinging into a flurry of cuts so rapid that the soldier couldn’t keep up. Another joined to aid him but Rana ran through him with his sword. He pulled out the bloody weapon with ease and chopped straight at Bhola’s adversary. The cut took the soldier’s lower leg; he fell to the ground, Rana’s sword following soon after to stab straight in the chest.
“Don’t play around boy!” Rana shouted, turning his attention to another soldier.
The disguised beggars had taken to slaughtering the innocents, making sure that chaos reigned in the temple. They continued to scream and howl as if they were possessed by demons, all according to Rana’s instructions. Half of them had fallen, but the rest managed to hold their own.
The rains poured harder, obscuring their vision. The thrashing rains doused out the sounds of metal against metal, of dying soldiers and suffering injured. Even the gods couldn’t bear witness to the outrage of this ambush.
Bhola pushed through Anandananta’s soldiers, not caring for the cuts that stripped his vest. He accepted every attack as if it were nothing, countering with fiercer, deadlier blows. Rana backed him up, keeping the guards away. Soon, the dacoits had outnumbered Ananda’s men.
The last round of defenders around Ananda made a semi-circle, shields almost interlocking to create a barrier between the killers and their king.
“You dare spill blood in this holy place?” Anandananta shouted, his voice booming over the battering rains.
Bhola could barely see the man’s face. “Fuck you! You took everything from me!”
Anandananta didn’t respond. “Drop your weapons now, or my son will slaughter you all!”
Bhola frowned. “Didn’t you hear what I said? This is revenge for my father! For my family! For my city and its people!”
“What city? You really think I go around pillaging every place I conquer?”
“You gave the order!”
“If you had come to me, I could’ve given you justice!” He stepped forward and Bhola saw his face. An ageing man, clean-shaven. He had tired eyes but stood with his head held high. “Instead, you resort to such blasphemy!”
“Don’t get distracted,” Rana cut in, “Let’s get it over with.”
Anandananta drew his sword and signalled the charge, “Akraman!”
From behind, the king’s men returned the cry for attack. They had managed to cross the rockslide.
Bhola’s hopes fell. No. NO!
Bhola dashed forward, spearing through two soldiers. He was a raging bull let loose. He almost made it. King Anandananta was just a few steps away.
It was now or never.
Sword ready to strike, Bhola gauged the king’s defence, only to be knocked aside by a guard.
Bhola stumbled briefly, directing his rage to the guard who pushed him. He cut him clean from the midriff and turned to look at Anandananta with blood-red eyes. Mouth foaming with anger, lungs burning, heart racing, Bhola wasn’t himself.
All he saw was hate and anger. And he unleashed it.
Anandananta stepped back as he parried the first two slashes. The third cut at his leg. Bhola did not stop there. His arm ached with the constant motion, but he did not care. One slash at the torso, one arc away from a riposte to cut on the bastard’s side. Bhola did not stop.
Finally, Anandananta managed to stab through Bhola’s attack. Bhola simply grabbed the sword with his free hand and saw an opening. NOW!
A flash of lightning.
Bhola stabbed, straight into Anandananta’s heart. He saw the vile king’s eyes bulge as his heart exploded.
Thunder rumbled.
Blood gushed out of his mouth, washed down by the rain. Bhola left his grip on Anandananta’s sword. It fell to the ground with a clang. Bhola drove his sword in deeper as his father’s killer tried weakly to stop the sword.
Finally, Bhola pulled. The sword slid out, a spray of blood painting his face red. The stinging blood rain reminded him of his father, of how he’d begged. “Beg!” he spat.
Anandananta stumbled and fell, trying weakly to stay up. The king’s hair split, showing his neck.
Bhola’s mind flashed back to the image of his father being decapitated. He raised his sword, positioning himself to behead the king in a single arc. NOW!
Bhola suddenly felt light. He lost balance and fell to the bloody ground, his sword clanging before him. His severed hand slapped at his face.
The pain followed next. Fire burned through his right hand, his left instinctively trying to put pressure on the stump. Bhola felt his insides churn. His mind felt like it would shatter. “NOOOO!”
He felt another stab in his back. He was so close to revenge... all was lost.
No! Bhola saw two guards rush to care for their king, but Anandananta’s white clothes were dyed red.
The king was dead. Bhola closed his eyes and accepted his faith.
“FATHER!”
No one cupped his mouth. Who was screaming? Who was crying?
Bhola opened his eyes, realising that the dacoits were losing. He saw Sauraga’s headless body sitting against the temple gates. He searched for the voice that had screamed and saw a young man bent over the dead king.
“FATHER! NO!” he screamed. Prince Ina, Bhola realised. A son who lost his father. But no one cupped his mouth. He hadn’t lost everything, just a father.
Just a fucking monster of a king who happened to be his father.
“WHO DID THIS!?” Prince Ina demanded, his voice loud and ready to kill.
“That’s the man. He’s the Sardar of this gang,” someone said.
Ina walked over, sword ready to kill. But he stopped. “Arrest him. I will make an example of him.” He turned, “Gather all the surviving dacoits. No one can get away with this. NO ONE!”
––––––––
The surviving dacoits were taken to the nearest village, where Ina delivered his promise. First, their limbs were chopped off, one by one, one joint at a time.
Bhola’s mind broke by the time he lost his remaining hand. How could the gods favour such cruel men? Why was he cursed to suffer like this?
To prolong their suffering, healers were stationed nearby to make sure none of the dacoits died of shock, bleeding, or any other reason. There were only twenty-two survivors, meaning a lot of work for both torturers and healers.
After a week of torture in public, those limbless dacoits were tied to stakes and stoned until they lost consciousness. When they awoke, rats, crows and maggots feasted on their festering wounds.
As if by the gods’ curse, Bhola was the last remaining dacoit who refused to die. Pinned to a stake for public warning, he let his broken mind ride through happier memories. He refused to accept that he had ever become a dacoit. This was just a nightmare. He would be up soon.
Mummy would greet him at breakfast with his sister. Baba would take them out for a hunt, maybe make a picnic out of it. They would have a happy day. A happy life.
“You did well, Bhola.”
Mind struggling to react, Bhola opened his eyes. Below on the ground, shrouded by darkness, stood the stranger. Pain and suffering were replaced by anger. “Why...” his voice was weaker than the string by which his life still hung. “Why...”
“You’re an unfortunate nobody, Bhola. A pawn in a game that’s been in the works for centuries,” the stranger came close, hands glowing. “I just needed you to kill Anandananta. I didn’t expect his son to be this...” the stranger shook his head.
“Who...?”
The stranger looked at him, then smiled. “I go by many names. But if you want to know who sent you to die... it’s Jagarakshaka.”
Bhola’s weak heart began beating slightly faster.
“Everything I did, everything I set in motion, it’s for the good of Adeva. You played your part well, Bhola. For that, I will grant you a swift death.”
Bhola had barely digested that thought before the stranger pointed his open palm in Bhola’s direction. The glow grew blindingly bright.
The last thing Bhola saw was white.
––––––––
The next morning, all the dacoits were declared dead. Their bodies were set ablaze unceremoniously.
Chachu looked at the twenty-two stakes, not knowing which of them had been his nephew. What happened was horrific, but no one would ever blame Prince Ina for his reaction. He was just a grieving son who took revenge against the monstrous dacoits who dared to spill blood in a temple. They had gone so far as to kill the priests and innocent pilgrims too. Of course, such evil deeds had to be punished. The severest of punishments wouldn’t be enough. Even in death, the vile dacoits would suffer as their souls were tormented in hell for eternity.
Chachu’s heart broke that day. He lost his will to live, knowing he was responsible for his Bhola’s death. He had failed his brother, his family, and now his family’s name would be forever forgotten.
Chachu hadn’t eaten anything since learning of his nephew’s fate. He had come to Jagadhama village just that morning. He didn’t know if he could count himself lucky not to witness his nephew suffer. He tried to convince himself that Bhola had died in the battle, and they lied to the public about the real Sardar. But deep down, he knew it wasn’t true.
And now, as the sun set behind him, he looked to the pile of ashes that was once his nephew and dacoit gang.
It would’ve been kinder for Bhola to have perished in that fire all those years ago.
Chachu said a silent prayer to the gods. Forgive me, Jagarakshaka. Please give my nephew some peace in the afterlife.
With that last painful thought, chachu walked into the horizon, unsure how he would live out the last of his days.