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In the Underworld, Dansh was struggling to reach Sekiada’s palace as he balanced himself on a precariously thick strip-like path. He was sweating profusely and apprehensively, switching his gaze from the river of fire on one side of him to the chasm of snakes, insects, and skeletons on the other.
About thirty feet away, Sekiada’s gold palace glimmered, but to reach there, Dansh had to survive the perilous path. He was moving forward at a turtle’s speed. It was as if he had forgotten that he was immortal. Even if he fell, whether into the river or the chasm, he would somehow return.
When he reached the palace’s entrance archway, he could see two pishachas standing with their falchions. The palace resided on a wide, five-hundred-acre patch of land, about nine meters away from the river and the chasm.
Sekiada was immortal and powerful, equal to a stampede of ten thousand elephants. His senses worked a hundred times faster than a human’s; he could smell anything within half a mile, hear anything within one mile, and see anything within three miles.
But everyone has a weak point, and Sekiada’s was the red-light district, and alcohol. These two vices dulled his grip on his powers; otherwise, he would have detected Dansh’s arrival, and as such, Dansh wouldn’t have had to wait for the guards at the entrance who stopped him from entering the palace.
“Do you know who I am?” Dansh said, indicating he was important, but the guards didn’t care. Their duty was to verify his identity before letting him in.
“Gratch crant,” said the rakshasa who was standing on the right.
“Skhresta Sekiada uhr tekt la attskso teno za ke earth,” Dansh said, telling them of their planned attack on the earth.
With that, the other pishacha turned and proceeded to walk inside the palace to inform Sekiada of his guest. All the while, infuriated by the insult that he had been kept waiting, Dansh glared at the remaining pishacha. The pishacha stood there glaring back at him.
After five long minutes, the other pishacha still hadn’t returned.
Dansh’s blood boiled at the fact they’d made him wait this long, especially when he was there to inform Sekiada about Dali’s attack. He stood mere inches away from the pishacha, directing his grimace at the demon’s angry face.
“Aargh!” the pishacha uttered, signaling Dansh to move back, but instead, he closed his eyes and chanted a spell. As he opened his eyes, fire made its way from his pupils and burned the pishacha. He then closed his eyes and opened them once more, pleased to see that the demon had collapsed into a pile of ash at the archway door.
He entered the palace.
A shaitan with a red face, yellow eyes, and two horns on the head was patrolling the palace and spotted Dansh entering. He signaled to other pishachas and shaitans nearby, and when the message reached the shaitan that was positioned at the top of the palace, the demon rang its bell five times to alert everyone.
Each evil now being alerted about the enemy, they ran hither and thither to secure the palace.
Sekiada, who had been enjoying watching three gorgeous rakshasis’ dance, stood up from his gold throne. He was wearing only underwear, not king-like clothes. The rakshasis halted their dance in respect, moving aside, providing him a path to approach the door.
Before he could reach the doorway, the demon who had left Dansh at the entrance rushed into the room.
“Fovgi mi, Keng,” said the pishacha, looking down, not daring to meet his scary red eyes, knowing that Sekiada would cut off his head if he did so. “Hemn es akti wet infelsion ol a attskso teno za ke earth. Nd tes signaliosyo mit bel pors hiem.”
On hearing that his friend, Dansh, was here with information about an attack, a grin appeared on his face. He knew Dansh was impatient and must have declared a war against his guards, that was why the alert had been sounded. Before any of his demons could harm Dansh, or the reverse, Sekiada rushed out of the room, walked through an alley, and exited the palace.
Sekiada now stood between the main entrance and the palace and could see hundreds of pishachas and rakshasas yearning to butcher Dansh with their swords, blocking his path, while shaitans waited behind them, ready to lead Dansh to his death if he made it that far.
Dansh was primed to burn them all, and was chanting a spell, which would be far faster than the demons’ swords.
“Strapo!” screamed Sekiada as the evils and Dansh prepared to clash.
The evils halted and moved to each side, providing a way through. Dansh stood, staring at Sekiada, waiting for his invitation.
“Come, my friend,” he shouted.
When Dansh walked toward him, Sekiada just kept grinning, excited to hear the news. When Dansh neared, Sekiada extended his hand, and Dansh returned the handshake.
Dansh observed Sekiada, who was still wearing only underwear. “I hope you haven’t forgotten our battle.”
“I’m still a master at massacring people,” he snapped in reply.
“That is pleasant to my ears,” said Dansh, finding Sekiada once more entirely in tune with all his senses and not lost in dreams of the girls. “I’m here to deliver a message from Dali.”
“If she’s attacking the city, I’m ready,” said Sekiada, already knowing the reason for Dansh’s presence.
“You’ve got me. In two hours, we will attack Rajasthan. Gather all your forces. I’m sure the human soldiers will try their best to protect their kind, especially the two youngsters, the ones who almost killed Dali a week back.”
“I’ll be there on time,” Sekiada said, assuring Dansh. “I’ll have not only my own evil force, but more brutal daayans, churels, rakshasas, rakshasis, pishachas, and shaitans. The earth will be ours, and then we will attack the heavens as well.”
“Bravo.”
“I’ll take leave now,” said Dansh.
As Sekiada nodded in agreement, Dansh closed his eyes and disappeared, reappearing back where he had been in Dali’s chamber. It was true Dansh had the power of apparating, disappearing from one place and appearing in another. If only he could have done so on entering Sekiada’s palace, but alas, the king’s magic shield prevented outsiders from entering without his permission. The same magical shield would stop anyone from escaping the kingdom, unless they had permission to leave.
* * *
The villagers had reached the burned hut at the end of the village, following Sharanam, the man who owned it. He had previously shared the hut with his family, before Dali murdered them all, and Dansh took his home.
First, Banjeet and Sharanam entered the hut, and after them, five more villagers followed. Everyone else waited outside, scrutinizing the desert to check that no danger was on its way.
Sharanam shifted all the skulls and books to a corner of the hut, and Banjeet picked up a steel bar and hammered the floor several times with it. The wood crashed open, showing there was enough space to dig a tunnel. Sharanam, his friend, Kartik, and another man picked up the spades they had brought with them. With no more tools, the other three stood at the door as guards. Like many other people, Sharanam was scared, but now finding a way to hide and escape from Dali, somewhere in his heart, a flower of hope had blossomed.
“How long you think we would be able to stay here in this tunnel?” asked Sharanam while he dug. “Even more importantly, will we able to dig a tunnel big enough to fit all of us?”
He and Kartik exchanged a look of worry.
“If we continue working like this in unity, everything will be fine,” said Banjeet. “Dig the tunnel as fast as you can with as much power as you have.”
Over the next half hour, many villagers contributed to the digging of the tunnel, taking turns one by one so that no one got too exhausted or slowed up the progress. But all the while, whoever stood outside the hut did not forget to scan for evil approaching.
Soon they realized they had a problem. The tunnel could fit only about fifty people, but there were four to five hundred of them. They feared half of them would die, but following Banjeet’s advice, they managed to find two more steel bars and two more people entered the tunnel and joined the digging. After another thirty minutes of the villagers working as hard and fast as they could, the tunnel was now fit for two hundred people.
Rahul and Elisa had remained wandering the outskirts of the village, eagerly waiting to hear good news.
“Do you think they will finish their task before time is up?” asked Rahul.
“How can I answer?” said Elisa, her voice full of concern. “I don’t even know what they’re up to.”
“I’m sorry.” Rahul sighed in disappointment. “It’s my fault. I couldn’t even tell you. I’m still afraid some churels might be following us.”
“That’s alright. I understand,” said Elisa, holding Rahul’s hand and patting it to reassure him, even though she wasn’t sure they were safe. “After all, they all want to survive. And so, they will find the path to finish the job before time is up—or, on time, at least, I should say.”
“Let’s hope for the best,” said Rahul.
“Yeah!” Elisa crossed her fingers.
Rahul was distressed. He was impatient to inform the police as they could not fight the evils alone, not when they possessed such immense powers. He would have called them, but the village was secluded and had no network coverage. The nearest cellular company had their network more than 100 miles away. And so, he remained where he was, watching the villagers who stood outside the hut.
The villagers’ heartbeats quickened in trepidation. They were running out of time. They increased their speed to make the tunnel big enough to fit all of them.
They heard the first war cry. A demon standing somewhere near the cave blew a conch shell. The evils must now be on their way to attack the village, which meant the entirety of Rajasthan and then the entire nation would soon follow.
Many villagers stood in horror. Some exchanged a look of alarm, while others kept their eyes on the clock and prayed. They had just fifteen minutes left. They all held their breath.
“Rush!” shouted Banjeet. “Before they come, finish it.”
“It’s almost finished,” said Manoj. “We are just extending it so that we don’t have to squeeze in. You can start sending people down. Meanwhile, we will keep expanding the tunnel so that we can have enough space to stand.”
Banjeet rushed out of the hut and ran to find Rahul and Elisa.
“It’s almost complete,” he said when he reached them. “Only a minor issue. Dansh’s belongings, like his spell books and candles, are now misplaced. Because of this, he could find out about—”
“Don’t worry,” interrupted Rahul, before Banjeet could mention the tunnel aloud. He did not want a churel or someone else to hear about it. “Inform them to stay there inside the t— inside there for a while. Fix everything after sending each of them in. Then return to us immediately, and we’ll go get help from the police.”
Banjeet sprinted to the tunnel and found it finished. He did what Rahul told him to do. After making sure every villager had entered, he crouched at the edge of the entrance and whispered to those nearest. “I’m covering the tunnel. I know this tunnel’s purpose was to escape, but reconsidering some aspects of Dali’s intentions, it’s better for you to stay hidden here for a while until she leaves the village. So please, all of you stay here and stay silent until we tell you it’s safe to exit. I’m going with Rahul, and we will return soon with enforcement.”
Without waiting for anyone’s response—time was running away from them—Banjeet closed the tunnel by placing a block of wood over the entrance. It was clearly visible someone had tampered with the floor, but Banjeet picked up all the skulls and spell books that littered the floor and placed them strategically, hoping it would mask their work at least for a short while. Then he ran back to Rahul.
“Everything’s done.”
The sound of drums, swords scratching against swords, roaring, growling, and screeching of demons, pishachas, and shaitans sounded in the distance. Although only the dust was visible to Rahul, Elisa and Banjeet’s eyes, they fully comprehended what had happened. The evils had emerged from the Underworld.
The trio ran away from the hut and toward their Jeep parked at the other end of the village. As the three humans were moving toward their vehicle, thousands of evils were gliding toward them.
Dali was soaring over everything. Sekiada was on his wild, spine-chilling lion, and Dansh was on his rotten, evil horse. All the other demons were marching. Some of them had falchions, and some had daggers. Rakshasas had katanas in their hands. Rakshasis held Viking swords. The pishachas, some holding swords, some empty handed and some playing drums as they were able to enact sufficient violence without weapons, were followed by shaitans who were masters of leading people on the wrong path. As they marched toward the village, the earth was shaking with the terrifying, heart-throbbing thud of their footsteps, the screeching, growling, roaring or the evils, and the clash of their weapons.
By the time the evil force reached the village’s border, near the burned hut where the villagers stood silently in the tunnel, Rahul, Elisa, and Banjeet had climbed into Jeep.
As soon as Rahul sat in the driver’s seat, he pushed the key into the ignition and turned it in a rush—the engine roared to life. With the others safely inside, he accelerated and had zoomed away before any evil’s sight could capture them.
