‘I hope you find the accommodation satisfactory,’ said Keshav to Bagha and his dozen men. Some were seated while the others, including Bagha, lay flat on mats to ease the pain of the tiring journey. Bagha had a cushion under his head and was in no mood to get up. He simply said, ‘It is certainly better than life in the Mahavan.’
‘Good. Should we move to the adjoining tent so that we can discuss the battle strategy?’ asked Keshav.
‘Why? This one is perfectly fine,’ said Bagha without opening his eyes.
Bagha’s rude behaviour did not trouble Keshav. He said patiently, ‘Some privacy would be better, I suppose.’
‘Alright. You’ve heard the man,’ Bagha said to his men and raised his right hand. They got up at once and left the tent. Bagha opened his eyes, folded his hands on the back of his head and said, ‘Let’s discuss now, shall we?’
Kashvi had spoken about Bagha’s ego and temper previously to Keshav, so he was aware of what to expect from his visitor. He came close to Bagha and sat down on the floor near his feet.
Keshav said, ‘Bagha, we need your help. We won’t be able to stop the Sultanate’s attack on our own.’
‘I thought perhaps you would have some common sense. I was hoping that you would back out of this suicide mission and write a letter to Kashvi stating that this plan needs to be abandoned. But I was wrong. After all, you are Kashvi’s brother. I forgot. So wrong of me.’
Keshav smiled. He looked into Bagha’s amused face and said, ‘Kashvi and I have had innumerable correspondences in the past regarding this. Now is the best time to teach Zorawar a lesson.’
‘Well, if you have decided to die, then no one can stop you from doing so. I have agreed to support your cause because I too want to settle scores with Zorawar in my own way. I had spoken with Guru Ashwath, and we have agreed that we will be in the Mahavan where we are the strongest, and you shall form the first line of defence. This is non-negotiable.’
‘Agreed,’ said Keshav, ‘I would have done the same thing If I was in your position.’
‘Oh! Would you?’ said Bagha sarcastically and scoffed.
‘You should know that we would be dressed as Junglees and not in our usual attire. Nor will we carry our tribe’s royal seal during the battle. This is a precautionary measure, as I don’t want my people to suffer in case we fail. For the Sultanate, the defence will not be from their vassal state but from the Junglees.’
‘I don’t care if you fight in your usual clothes or if you’re naked. I am participating in this madness because if this plan works, I will have a shot at avenging my brother’s death. Also, our future would hold hope.’
‘I know about your motivations, Bagha. I also have ambitions. It’s just about waiting for the right opportunity. And your opportunity is now,’ said Keshav.
‘You seem to know a lot, Keshav. Has Guru Ashwath disclosed his entire plan to you? Oh, wait, is it all written in this letter?’ Bagha reached into his bag for the letter given to him by Guru Ashwath. He handed over the scroll.
Keshav opened the letter and was pleased to see his sister’s handwriting. He glanced through the letter and said, ‘Sadly, the grand plan isn’t laid out in this one, Bagha. Besides, I do not need to know. I trust Guru Ashwath and my sister. As long as everyone knows their role properly, there is no need to worry. A boat moves against the current when all boatmen perform their duty to perfection.’
‘What does the letter say, then?’ asked Bagha.
‘It says that the full moon is going to be beautiful this time,’ said Keshav with a mischievous grin.
‘What?’ Bagha seemed perplexed, ‘What did you say?’
‘Ha-ha, nothing. We need to get into the details of the defence strategy, the number of men, horses, weapons, and so on. Should we start?’ asked Keshav.
‘My mind doesn’t function when my stomach is empty. We Junglees have a saying, “first food and then all shall be good”,’ chuckled Bagha and readied to get up.
Keshav extended a helping hand. Bagha clutched it and stood up swiftly. Both walked towards the tent opposite theirs for dinner.
They discussed the necessary details and passed the night in tents under the starry night.
The next morning, the Green Hill was cleared of its make-shift tents, as both parties moved to their respective bases.
17 – Sultan’s Chamber
Jazeera was asleep but its Sultan couldn’t rest for the night. He twisted and turned unsatisfactorily, as sleep evaded him. His mind did not let his body rest. Zorawar lay on his back in his bedchamber and stared at the chandelier with wide eyes. The silver chandelier playfully reflected the lamp’s golden light.
Zorawar wondered, What would happen if the chandelier fell down? I would just open my mouth and gulp the silver piece. After all, I am the God of Jazeera. What can a mere chandelier do to hurt me? Perhaps, it was the toddy speaking.
He flicked away the blanket and got up from his regal bed. Dressed in an airy grey robe, he took a few steps to his right towards the ornate cupboard. He searched frantically for something on the top shelf. He reached out for it with his right hand and grabbed it. He clenched it in his fist and turned towards the half-finished bottle of toddy on the table. Zorawar picked it up with his other hand and turned to his left to an adjoining room.
He then stood in front of another cupboard in the corner of the room with doors grander than the one in the bedchamber. Zorawar placed the bottle down, unlocked the cupboard, and again picked up the bottle.
Bending forward to ensure the cupboard didn’t hit the top of his head, Zorawar stepped into the cabinet to enter a mini room. A hundred Zorawars looked back at him. The cabin was full of mirrors. He latched the door from inside, turned, and undressed. He let his robe fall onto the floor and stood in the centre of the mirror room.
Glass floor, glass ceiling, and glass walls. Hundreds of square-shaped mirrors, the size of his palm, stared at him. And Zorawar stared back at them. He sat down, naked. The cold glass made his skin tingle. He took a sip from the bottle and opened his right fist to reveal a tiny stoppered glass tube. Shiny silver liquid glimmered from within the tube.
Zorawar uncorked the tube and held both the bottle of toddy and the tube at his eye level. He poured the shiny liquid into the bottle one drop at a time carefully. He thought, Only four, this time.
His fingers shivered, as he tilted the tube. One. Two and three. Four. And just as he was about to pull the tube away, a tiny droplet sneaked itself into the bottle.
Zorawar looked worried for a second, but it didn’t last long. His eyes were fixed on the Sin Serum, as the Arabs called it. The five drops danced their way down inside the bottle and left a lingering mark on their way. His curious eyes watched the serum mix with the whitish beverage. Zorawar shook the bottle and gulped the mixture.
He let out a haunting scream and jerked backward. He flung his hands behind him, arched his back, and stretched his legs. He lifted his stomach as if performing an asana.
Zorawar’s core hurt. He felt as if someone was squeezing his intestine. The pain was reaching its zenith and then suddenly, it stopped. Everything stopped. Zorawar relaxed. His body was floating. He opened his eyes. They were blood red.
Hundreds of blood-red eyes stared back. Zorawar closed his eyes again. He took a few deep breaths and opened them. He was at sea. On a small ship. Waiting on the swaying deck with his young friends. He had not become Zorawar yet. He was still a boy. A slave.
The ship belonged to his middle-aged master, who was an Arab merchant on his voyage back home to Yemen from Ethiopia via the Gulf of Aden. Ten people were aboard the ship including the master.
It was after sunset. The master was inside his cabin, while the four staff members managed the sails and the steering. Ali, as Zorawar was known back then, stood shivering in the drizzle with three other slaves who were of his age. The pre-teens were chained together. Another boy of the pack of five was inside the cabin with the master.
Ali and th
e others could hear their friend Bashir’s reverberating cries. This time, the abuse had gone on for too long. Usually, the merchant took about fifteen minutes with each boy, but today, he had taken a fancy to the young African boy with slender limbs.
Bashir let out a high-pitched shriek and went quiet. Seconds later, he walked out of the cabin, limping, whimpering, finished. He looked into Ali’s eyes helplessly. With glassy eyes, Bashir said, ‘Enough’.
A tall crew member approached the kids. He unchained Ali and chained Bashir to the rest. The lanky staff member pushed Ali into the cabin and waited outside. The other kids tried to console Bashir by patting his back, but they knew their collective fate. The consolation was unconvincing. They cried helplessly in a huddle.
They heard each other’s sobs. They heard the waves. And then the scream from the cabin. It was a loud one. The loudest so far. The scream belonged to the master.
Everything went silent. The door creaked. Ali stepped out with blood smeared all over his face and a nail in his hand. Another nail was jabbed into the master’s throat. Ali had stabbed the master mercilessly. He had not just killed the master, but he had also killed his own innocence, youth, and guilt.
Zorawar liked revisiting this memory again and again, as it made him feel powerful. The Sin Serum helped him access the thoughts vividly. The Sin Serum had taken control of Zorawar’s mind, and he retired for the night in the cabin of mirrors.
18 – Urmila’s House
Urmila had toiled in the palace gardens for the entire day. Her body ached, but she still had to perform her duties as a mother and a wife. Back at home, she had fed the little one and sang her a lullaby to put her to sleep. Urmila often used a dash of special herbs in the food to make her daughter sleep peacefully. Otherwise, her drunken father’s antics would’ve woken her up for sure. Urmila served dinner to her husband, Raghu, and waited for him to finish eating his heart’s full, so that she could have the remains, if any.
As usual, Raghu had come home reeking of low-quality toddy. He ate a few morsels and then flung the plate at her. He said, ‘What is this horseshit? Didn’t your mother teach you to cook!’ Urmila failed to understand what was wrong.
She ate a morsel of the food and said sheepishly, ‘Feels alright.’
‘What?’ shouted Raghu, ‘You mean I am an idiot! The others in the market also feel that way. And now you are also saying the same thing? Wait. I will teach you what happens if you back answer me.’
Raghu got up to his feet, reached for a broomstick, and started hitting Urmila with it. She defended herself with her elbows, as Raghu continued the assault. Just as he was about to kick Urmila on her thighs, Raghu froze. He held his position for a second or two and then collapsed onto the floor.
Urmila’s tear-filled eyes searched for an explanation. Her eyes wandered towards the entrance of her house, which was nothing more than a thick blanket, where she saw Shravan holding a tiny bamboo stick in his hand. He entered the house and said, ‘Don’t worry, he will be out for the night. And he won’t remember much when he wakes up in the morning.’
Urmila didn’t understand whether to thank Shravan or reprimand him. She got up, paced about her tiny house for a while, and asked Shravan, ‘What are you doing here? And what have you done to my husband?’
Shravan took out the pendant he found in the market and showed it to Urmila. He said, ‘I came to talk to you about this. And when I saw your husband was hurting you, I couldn’t help but shoot a dart at him.’
Urmila asked, ‘What is a tailor like you doing with such a dangerous weapon?’
‘Well. There is something I need to tell you before I can ask you about this pendant,’ he said. ‘I am not a tailor, but I can’t reveal more to you at this stage. But I assure you that if you help me, I will get your daughter back to you,’ assured Shravan.
Urmila’s eyes welled up at the mention of her daughter. She said, ‘Don’t give me hope, Shravan.’
‘I am not giving you false hope, Urmila. I am giving you my word. However, I want something in return for it.’
‘I have nothing to give you,’ resigned Urmila.
‘You have the answers to my questions. First, do you recognize this pendant?’ asked Shravan.
Urmila was intrigued by the question. She held the pendant in her hand and examined it. ‘This is a tribal pendant. The inscription is of the mythical Timingila. Where did you find this?’
‘I found it in the market from where the fisherwoman’s child was kidnapped in broad daylight this morning,’ explained Shravan.
‘So, the rumours are true then. This is about black magic.’ Urmila was lost in her thoughts. ‘My daughter must be dead by now. And you tell me that you can bring her back. How foolish!’
‘I know what I am saying. I can bring your daughter back. I witnessed the kidnapping. And I must have played the scenario at least a hundred times in my head before I came to you.’
Urmila was confused, ‘I don’t understand what you mean.’
‘The others saw what they were conditioned into seeing. All these rumours and myths have confused them, and they cannot think straight beyond a certain point. Even I did the same thing, but when I questioned myself more, I found that there’s more to this than what meets the eye.’
Urmila asked, ‘You mean to say that everyone is wrong, and you are right?’
‘I don’t know about the others, but I may be right. On keen observation, I noticed there is a gap between what people saw and what I discovered. People saw a Shadow glide down, pick up the child, throw it to another Shadow and vanish into Jazeera’s maze of buildings. However, what I think happened is that a person wearing a black attire swooped down using a rope, picked up, and flung the kid to his partner while he himself swung back up. Its winged structure probably helped as well. Then they jumped from the buildings and found their way out.’
‘What makes you say that?’ asked Urmila.
‘I saw a cut rope. And I found the pendant, which I assume belongs to the person dressed as the Shadow. There is no black magic, Urmila. These are mortal beings kidnapping innocent children for their own agenda. And this is where I want the answer to my second question: will you help me enter the palace?
Urmila let out a sarcastic smirk. ‘First, you are countering a story that people believe with a story that only you believe. And second, how many bottles of toddy have you gulped to ask me whether I can help you enter the palace?
‘All I can say is that I have a plan in place, and I want you to believe me,’ pleaded Shravan.
‘You say that you are not what you said you are. You barge into my house with a weapon and sedate my husband. You seem merely amused by what people believe is an act of black magic. And you want me to do something that can get me killed. What makes you think I will do what you ask of me?’
‘Your daughter,’ said Shravan. ‘I will bring her back to you. I promise.’
Urmila looked pensive. Even if there was a sliver of hope that she would be united with her daughter, she would take it.
She thought for a while and said, ‘I hope you live up to your promise.’
‘Is that a yes, Urmila?’ Shravan asked expectantly.
She nodded and said, ‘But I am not responsible if the Island Guards kill you,’
‘That won’t happen,’ said Shravan. He reached into his sling bag and took out a box with a new pack of darts and a neatly tucked bamboo stick. He said, ‘Here, keep this. I have more. It might come in handy in case your husband tries to hit you again.’
‘What makes you think I have the liberty to use it against Raghu? He is my husband,’ said Urmila.
‘Exactly! He is your husband, not your master. You are his wife, not a slave. You need to stand up for yourself.’
‘There’s a fine line between being a wife and a slave in this filthy society. And husbands hold the chalk that draws the line. I have to live by my husband’s rules,’ said Urmila.
‘There’s no “have to”. We always have a ch
oice. It is the consequences of making the choice that blinds us from acknowledging the other options,’ said Shravan. ‘What do you fear, Urmila?
‘Right now, I fear for both my daughters’ lives. And I will do everything in my capacity to protect them, irrespective of what this hypocritic society has to say about it,’ said Urmila.
She took the box from Shravan and continued, ‘When do you want to go to the palace?’
‘Tomorrow morning, I shall accompany you inside the palace,’ said Shravan and left Urmila’s house.
19 – Cave
Kashvi had finished her morning ritual of presenting freshly made jaggery rotis to Bhoodevi. After she made the offering, she took a rolled-up white cloth in her hand. She opened it like a scroll and ran her fingers through its golden inscriptions. It was the prophecy:
Even the darkest night has its end;
A dawn shall be born for such is time’s trend.
Strengthen your clan and assemble your might,
For the Timingila will rise in the brightest moonlight;
The sea will drain, and the tides will turn,
A new era will begin when the old sins burn.
She chanted it like a mantra seven times. It had been twenty years since she had been doing so. And every time she did it with the same intensity.
Guru Ashwath walked into the cave and stood behind Kashvi. He didn’t want to disturb her. Kashvi rolled back the prophecy into a scroll and kept it inside a box beside the other sacred texts.
She smiled at the Guru and exited the sanctum. Guru Ashwath prayed to Bhoodevi and followed Kashvi out. Both sat near the cave’s entrance and looked at the inbound light.
‘Will the clearing of the route be completed as per the schedule, Kashvi?’ asked Guru Ashwath.
‘Yes. But I am worried about the larger question at hand,’ said Kashvi.
‘What is it?
‘Do you believe in the prophecy, Guru Ashwath?’ asked Kashvi with a lot of sincerity.
Jazeera- Legend of the Fort Island Page 5
